My Little Berserker
by AelysAlthea
Summary: The return of the eighth year students was supposed to be calm. Moderated. Peaceful, even. Draco returned to escape the chaos wrought upon his shambles of a life and Harry to flee the responsibility of a world that sees him as something greater than was truly possible. Hogwarts was a safe haven, right? At least it was until Hagrid comes up with the wonderful idea to introduce...
1. Chapter 1 - Foxlet Gliders

**Summary:** The return of the eighth year students was supposed to be calm. Moderated. Peaceful, even. Draco returned to escape the chaos wrought upon his shambles of a life and Harry to flee the responsibility of a world that sees him as something greater than was truly possible. Hogwarts was a safe haven, right?

At least it was until Hagrid comes up with the wonderful idea to introduce some additional members to the student body of the fluffier variety. Hagrid doesn't do moderated - where's the fun in that?

~Written for prompt #17 of H/D Pet Fest~

 **Rating** : NC-17

 **Tags:** Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy, eighth year, EWE, magical creatures, sort-of-but-kind-of-different bonding fic

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 **Disclaimer:** This story is a work of fiction (duh, but, like, fiction of a fiction). None of the characters are mine except for the very obvious ones and I make no profit from writing this. All gratitude goes to JK Rowling for providing the workspace I can mould like jello :)

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 **Chapter 1: Foxlet Gliders**

 _The_ Petaurus vulpes veraque, _common name foxlet glider, is a rare subspecies of the genus_ Petaurus, _species_ magicae _. Once widespread, since the mid twentieth century the number of these foxlet gliders has dwindled to less than a thousand in natural environments. To encounter such an individual is considered, in many cultures, to be a blessing, to bestow luck upon the seer, as much as they can similarly be deemed dangerous. Such encounters should not be disregarded lightly._

* * *

The fire crackled merrily in the hearth, warming the wide, round room into just short of stifling. The heat seemed to reflect the rich red carpets, the polished timber of the furnishings, the candles dotted around the walls. Unnecessary as it was – for winter had hardly begun to glimpse from behind its autumnal curtain – Minerva kept it alight nonetheless. She always had, just as she always would. A headmaster – or headmistress, in her case – needed to be contactable, and a constant fire was one of the readiest options available to her.

In that moment, however, Minerva hardly even noticed the fire, warm as it was. Her attention was trained upon the half-giant across from her, seated upon the pair of armless chairs she'd provided him and still causing them to creak and groan at the abuse of the heavy weight settled atop them. She fought back a sigh, suppressing the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose, to squeeze her eyes closed. "We can't, Hagrid. Not this year. Please, they just need time, some normality, some consistency. We all do, not just the students."

The gamekeeper stared down at Minerva with baleful eyes from across her desk. No, not her desk, for it didn't truly feel like hers. She doubted it could, not when the formalities for appointing her headmistress weren't entirely completed. Not even when the teaching staff looked up to her with support, with deference, with recognition for her promotion. Just as Hagrid did, accepting of her words even as he protested them. "I understand, Professor. But I jus' thought that might be one o' the reasons teh bring somethin' interestin' in."

Minerva stared at Hagrid silently for a moment, hands clasped upon the desk before her, back straight and lips pressed together. She remained silent for long enough that he began to shift uneasily. "Have you even considered the list you've given me, Hagrid?"

"Yeah, well, like I was sayin' –"

"A chimaera, Hagrid?" Minerva picked up the half-curled sheet of parchment resting before her, scribbled with Hagrid's messy block letters. "You want to bring in a chimaera?"

Hagrid creaked in his chair awkwardly once more. "I just thought it might be something interestin' for the students teh take a look at."

"An amphisbaena?"

"It might have two heads but that doesn' mean –"

"A snake with twice as many heads means there is twice as much chance of those heads biting." Minerva did close her eyes then, if only briefly. _Merlin, an amphisbaena? Where did he even find a breeder?_ "We don't need that, Hagrid. Not this year, certainly."

Hagrid seemed to deflate slightly. "Alrigh' then, not the amphisbaena."

"Or a Kelpie."

"They're practically harmless when they're kept away from the water –"

"Hagrid, your class will be a bare few hundred meters from the lake," Minerva interrupted, raising a hand to silence the protest. "How could you think that a Kelpie wouldn't be harmless?"

Hagrid winced. "Alright, not the Kelpie then either. I jus'…"

Minerva fought to suppress her recurring sigh. This wasn't the first of such conversations she'd had with her fellow professors. It was both the opinion of the Department of Education and of herself that they take the year following the war slowly and carefully. The bare minimum of extremes should be approached, and certainly not anything dangerous. The Defence Against the Dark Arts curriculum was so devoid of actual Dark magic that it was almost as starkly bare as it had been two years before under Dolores Umbridge. This time, Minerva wasn't protesting that fact. There had been objections from all of the professors to some degree, but such protests had rapidly died beneath the weight of her explanations. Died and fallen into guilty submission.

Hagrid, unfortunately, would have to be the same. Taking a deep breath, Minerva reattempted. "Hagrid, I know what you're attempting to do. I know you're trying to make the year exciting and enjoyable, different to how it was last year. But so soon after the war, I don't think it would be possible. Not yet."

Hagrid was silent. He looked so woebegone that, against her better judgement, Minerva felt guilty. Almost urging her to renege on her resolution. Hagrid, for all his size and potential for intimidation, was like that. "I'm sorry, Hagrid."

"'S alright, Professor. I know yeh're jus' tryin' teh make the best o' a bad situation. Not even sure how many students will be likely teh return. I know some o' them, some I've talked teh, will come back – Harry, and Ron, and Hermione, o' course…"

"They will likely make up the bulk of the eighth year cohort," Minerva muttered. It was a sad truth, but she could hardly object to the reluctance of students to return, 'eighth' years or otherwise.

They both pondered in silence for a moment before Minerva shook herself from her contemplation. With another deep breath, she turned her attention back to the matter at hand, eyes falling to the parchment before her once more. "As it stands, Hagrid, I believe that only X or XX class creatures should be brought upon the grounds. Perhaps I'll reconsider in future but at least for this year."

Hagrid looked physically pained for Minerva's words. His mouth opened briefly, a bare split in his tangle of a beard before closing once more. He dropped his head in a slow nod a moment later, however, accepting. "Alrigh', Professor – ah, Headmistress." The distinction seemed to speak more than simple words. "Just the lil' ones, then." He turned his gaze towards Minerva once more and the flash of tentative query, of small hope, immediately raised Minerva's guard once more.

"Hagrid?"

"Perhaps I could jus' be keeping the Berserkers, headmistress?"

Minerva stared. And stared. And stared some more until Hagrid was shifting awkwardly once again. When she shook her head it was more in incredulity than denial. "You wish to keep… Berserkers?"

"They're practically harmless –"

"They're called _Berserkers_ , Hagrid." Minerva didn't know what a Berserker was; it was likely a common name she wasn't aware of, one used by specialists out of some misguided affection for a deadly creature. "How could I possibly -?"

Her words died as Hagrid reached into his pocket and drew out a furball. A furball because that was truly what it looked like. A small – or at least small in Hagrid's hand – ball of white fluff. Hagrid, his eyes momentarily turned down towards it, the… the creature of sorts, appeared to have abruptly abandoned his momentary bout of melancholy. He stroked one thick, stubby finger across the downy fur.

"Hagrid," Minerva said faintly, her eyes glued upon the fluff. "What is that?"

"It's a Berserker, Headmistress. Or," Hagrid shrugged, "it _might_ be, when it matures. But fer now, it's jus' a lil' tod."

"A tod…" Minerva stared at the ball of fur – it hadn't moved to appear more than such – before closing her eyes. She sighed heavily. "Hagrid, what exactly is it you have in your possession?"

As she opened her eyes, Minerva met Hagrid stare for stare. His expression was still hopeful, and his finger still stroking the… tod. "It's a _Petaurus vulpes veraaque_."

"Which is…?"

"A foxlet glider, Headmistress." Hagrid explained. "Harmless. They're harmless."

Minerva frowned. She hadn't head of a 'foxlet glider' in more than passing – they were quite rare, to her understanding – but the creature Hagrid's referred to wouldn't have been termed 'Berserker' for no reason. She felt an immediate sense of foreboding rise within her, but couldn't think to act upon it. Not yet. For once, she couldn't find it in her to fight. And besides…

"You already have a foxlet?" Minerva gestured towards the furball in Hagrid's hand with a downward flicker of her gaze. She paused, awaiting Hagrid's response and narrowed her eyes slightly as he glanced away from her guiltily. "Foxlet _s_? You have more than one?"

Hagrid creaked in his chair once more. "Jus' three, Profess – Headmistress. And all o' them tods."

"Three?"

"Jus' three."

"You already have them?"

"I… yes, Headmistress." Hagrid stroked at the ball of fur in his hand like a sheepish child. "A friend o' a friend asked me teh –"

Minerva held up a hand to silence him. No, she couldn't bring herself to fight the subject any more. It was just too hard in that moment. Besides, Hagrid already had them so… "I want a full report on what to expect from these creatures, Hagrid, alongside the rest of those you will be bringing in for the school year. X and XX class only." She flickered her glance back down to the upheld furball once more. "And when they reach maturity, should they become, ah… _Bersekers_ , they will be –"

"I'll rehome them if need be," Hagrid hastened to agree. His sheepishness had split into a beaming smile. "O' course, Headmistress! If it happens, like. It's my hope that they won't turn into Berserkers – there's a means of maturing them that can help teh –"

"The reports, Hagrid," Minerva interrupted with a sigh. She felt like she was making a mistake, that she would regret her decision in due course, but couldn't bring herself to care. Maybe later. Maybe she really would regret it, would scold herself in the coming months for the not putting her foot down, but not now. In the face of Hagrid's spreading grin, how could she? Few enough people smiled these days. Not yet, anyway. "Get me the reports, and we'll see."

Hagrid's smile only broadened further. Minerva wished it didn't look so threatening, but for that moment she couldn't concern herself with it too greatly. She had a school to prepare, to welcome her students back once more.

* * *

The gushing toot of the Hogwarts Express emitted another blast as Draco stepped onto the platform. The autumnal air was still faintly warm despite the darkness that was blanketing the students as they clambered from the train. A respectable number they were in total, thought Draco didn't need to count to know that the total populace of returnees that year was significantly lesser than it had been in previous years. Less than it should be.

Not that Draco could really blame them. He'd been hesitant to return himself.

"Same old same old."

Glancing to his side, Draco met Blaise's gaze. Just barely, though; the darkness of the evening and his now-permanently downward facing cast shadowed his eyes. It was almost as though he was hesitant to meet the eyes of any of their fellow students. No, not almost. He was. Draco knew because… because he felt the same.

"Not quite the same," Draco murmured in reply.

Blaise's lips quirked to the side but he didn't smile. "Yeah, 'suppose you're right." He glanced over his shoulder towards where the last of the students where nearly falling in their descent down the train steps. His face seemed to shadow further. "It seems strange, coming to school without Pansy."

Draco could only nod his agreement. Blaise had always been close to Pansy. He would feel her absence most keenly out of anyone. Draco did too, but not as much. He missed Greg, who had chosen not to return to school that year. He missed Vince, who had died the year before – the thought of which still drew Draco short with a sudden need to swallow, to thrust back the memory.

Almost more than that, however, more than simply 'missing his friends', Draco missed the familiarity. He missed the touch of normality, the consistency, the monotony that he never would have thought he would reflect upon with wistful reminiscence. Hogwarts had been _boring_ in the past. Funny, that now when it finally wasn't, Draco missed those boring days.

The students around him, milling quietly and making their gradual way in the direction of the carriages that waited for them… they weren't 'normal' either. Oh, there were the smiles. There was chatter, even laughter. There was the familiar Hogwarts robes, school emblem standing out starkly visible upon the breast, and the distant calls of owls, the meows of cats and even the grumbling croaks of toads as luggage was manhandled from the train carriages by the house elves before they snapped them into disappearance and towards the school dormitories. All of that was similar.

And yet, innately, it was different.

Students laughed, but it was always with a glance to the side, a glimpse at their dwindled numbers and a hasty silencing of that burst of merriment. Smiles spread across faces but they were just a little forced, and though talk of the coming school year arose as was commonplace, hungry chatter of the feast and longing for the plush, four-poster beds that would await them that night, it was similarly strained. As though the students of Hogwarts had made an unspoken vow to _try_ to be normal but were only just managing, and not very well at that.

The weight of the war, of the previous year, of the deaths, was too much to overlook. Draco didn't think such a marked reduction in the number of students was surprising. It was more surprising that anyone returned at all. There was even about a score of first years, drifting aimlessly around the platform with wide eyes staring after their upperclassmen.

Until the gamekeeper arrived, of course, and huddled them together. "First years! First years, come with me. This way, over here, the lot o' yeh."

Making his way down the platform amongst the sea of students, Draco glanced up at the half-giant, peering over heads that similarly turned like sunflowers wearily facing the sun. Hagrid was a hulk of a man, towering and imposing, and his actions in the final battle did nothing to allay Draco perception of such. He could remember the sight of the gamekeeper, ploughing through enemy forces, using brute force rather than magic and managing just as well. He remembered the fat tear drops that visible spilled down his face as he'd stepped from the Forbidden Forest surrounded by Death Eaters and carrying –

No. No, Draco didn't want to think about that. He didn't want to think about any of it.

And yet, despite his vehement denial of remembrance, he couldn't help but look on the half-giant with new eyes. He couldn't help but recall the strength behind the big man's friendly, bearded smile, the determination and perseverance that had so overwhelmed any of Draco's past speculations as to the stupidity, the uselessness, of the man. His perspective of Hagrid had changed. Just as it had in so many other instances.

Draco bowed his head after his first glimpse of the man. He was taller than most of his fellow students, and not only because he was one of the few 'eighth years' that had returned that year. Still, he didn't make use of that height, kept his chin tucked in an effort to avoid falling into view of… of anyone. Draco wasn't a Death Eater. He never had been, really. All charges had been cleared from his name, even if they hadn't from his father and only to a degree for his mother. And yet it didn't change the reality of his position and past actions. It didn't change the fact that, though they didn't do so openly, Draco knew the students around him viewed him warily. That they maintained just a little distance. That they might not shun him but they were far from acceptance, both of a Malfoy and a Slytherin.

Draco wasn't a fool. More than that, he could hardly blame them for their guardedness, for their ostracism. He would have done the same in their shoes.

The carriage bay was barely a three-minute walk from the platform. Draco didn't speak, for neither did Blaise, and few enough others would care to speak to him at all. He didn't need to glance up from his toes to see where they were going, and not only because he knew he could have walked the short, easy distance in his sleep without become lost. It was a little difficult to become so distracted when amidst a horde of forcedly jovial teens that flocked towards the waiting vehicles like a school of fish. Draco didn't look up at all, in fact, until the person – a girl with dark hair in a ponytail as her only distinguishing feature – pulled up short before him. Until he noticed that the voices around him had died.

Draco glanced up. Then he saw what everyone else saw.

The carriages pulled themselves. That was what Draco had always been told. No, not been told, he realised, but had assumed. None of the professors had actually _told_ him that the carriages pulled themselves, but it was a commonly accepted fact. One that Draco, too, accepted.

Until sixth year, that was, when he'd seen that they didn't pull themselves at all.

As he stood in the midst of his fellow students, gaze trained easily over their shorter heads, Draco saw the thestrals. The skeletal horse-birds, their black, leathery wings draping limply at their sides and nearly grazing the ground. The hollow cheeks, the white, sightless eyes, the twig-thin legs that looked nothing if not blackened bone with not a hint of flesh to bulk them out. Each was hitched in pairs to the carriages, waiting idly, silently, and paying not an ounce of attention to the students who had drawn up before them. As though they'd seen them hundreds of times and the stunned, staring children were of no consequence to them.

Which, Draco knew, they likely weren't.

No one moved for a long time. There was incomprehension radiating from most, and in those that understand arose only heartbreak settling in its wake. Thestrals. Thestrals were visible to those who had seen death. Draco knew that not a single student who had witnessed the Battle of Hogwarts was spared such a sight. It was almost painful to consider. As so often happened, as had already happened in the short time since Draco had alighted from the train, he felt an upwelling of memories, of pain and horror, as recollection returned to the forefront of his mind once more. He had to close his eyes, to look away from the creatures; what they represented truly did hurt to consider.

A scuffle of noise, a clearing of a throat, drew his attention back towards the still scene around him. Over the heads of his fellows, Draco saw a single figure step forwards. He saw him break from the stagnant pool of wary students and start for the carriages. He saw him pause alongside one of the thestrals, idly pat the creature's head as though it were dog, before turning and swinging himself up into the carriage behind it.

Potter. Of course it would be Potter. Potter, who was always the leader, who was the Saviour of the world. Who, even after his role was complete, even after he had publicly professed that he wanted nothing more than peace and to return to his studies, to be _normal_ – Potter was still leading them.

Draco didn't feel ridicule. He didn't feel disgust, or anger, or frustration at Potter's actions. He didn't feel all that much of anything except… no, there was something. Just a little bit of respect. A little gratitude. That perspective, of Potter himself, had changed too.

As one, as though suddenly given permission to do so, the rest of the students slowly flowed into forward movement once more. In tentative steps at first, but swiftly with more confidence. Weasley and Granger led, they too clambering up into Potter's chosen carriage, expressions still guarded but attempting nonchalance that Draco didn't think fooled anyone. Some of the students that followed in their wake while struggling for that same nonchalance, even paused to reach hesitant hands towards the thestrals, to stroke the leathery black skin of the beasts as Potter had done.

Draco followed. He didn't like to think he wouldn't have eventually left the immobilised masses and stepped forwards, wouldn't have brushed aside the foolishness that had stilled them all in step and swept towards the carriages with his head held high. He would have liked to have thought as much but he knew it to be false. He knew himself well enough these days to know as much. The previous year had been confronting on a number of levels, not the least of which being that Draco knew himself better. And the Draco that he perceived, that he knew to be that of reality…

He didn't like what he saw all that much, even if it was impossible to break free from. It was simply him.

Draco climbed into one of the empty carriages. Empty intentionally, because he didn't think that most would care to be inflicted with his presence and, though he wasn't so altruistic as to care how they _felt_ – he knew that about himself now, too – Draco couldn't face the open aversion. The wariness. The whispered conversations and sidelong glances that he knew would follow.

Blaise was right behind him, and seconds later so too was Tracey Davis and Theodore Nott. That was all. That was all of them of the eighth year Slytherins. Draco had expected as much – he still questioned why he had decided to come back himself at times – more than he had the similarly small numbers of the each of the other houses. It was more of a surprise, really, that they seemed to have perhaps the most of their retuning house out of their fellow eighth years, or equal if not.

Just the four of them. The four who would be outcasts, in some ways even more than the rest of Slytherin house. The professors might – and likely would – attempt to promote unity amongst the school, but Draco knew that the reality of the situation was that it was hardly possible to achieve as much. Not yet and perhaps not ever.

Draco had never been particularly close to Theodore, the tall, thin boy more engrossed in his potions studies than in making friends, and small, dark Tracy was so quiet that he had to wonder if she even had a voice. But they were bonded of a sort now, even if they didn't want to be. Draco settled into his seat with the weight of that knowledge, folding his robes precisely over his legs and picking at the rich fabric. Vince had always called it his 'fussiness', viewed with thinly veiled bemusement, but was more an act of discomfort than any finicky-ness on Draco's part. He knew he did it. That was another thing he'd noticed about himself, something that others had noticed too, had teased him about. Not his friends, of course. No, he didn't think the voices behind those jibes had been friendly. The leers that accompanied them were just as bad. Those faces, those largely nameless figures… it was the memory of them as much as anything that drove Draco back to Hogwarts. Or, more specifically, away from home.

The carriages jostled into motion when Theo, the last of them, settled into his seat. Alongside them, directly before and directly after, the carriages of their fellow students similarly swayed into motion. Draco knew it was impossible – it didn't happen, not even when they could see them – but he could have sworn he could hear the footsteps of the thestrals to accompany the crunching rumble of the carriage wheels. There was no other sound to disturb the pervasive darkness. No one spoke, not in Draco's carriage and not in any of the others. Not even Potters.

That was different to.

And as Draco stared down at his hands, fighting the urge to pick at his robes, he could help but think. _This year is definitely going to be different._ Even in his own head he could hear a touch of wistful sadness to the thought.

* * *

A/N: So this is a pretty short chapter but they'll be getting longer after this. The story should be posted at least once a week? Maybe more often? Probably more often.  
Anyway, if you liked this chapter please/liking the story so far, please leave a review! It's much appreciated to hear thoughts on the matter, thank you :D


	2. Chapter 2 - Domestication

**Chapter 2: Domestication**

 _Despite the wariness that should always be maintained upon such encounters, foxlet gliders appear, if nothing else, to be relatively harmless in their juvenile state. Of an approachable countenance, coupled with their diminutive size and the general impression of dainty fragility, in the early fourteenth century immature offspring bred in captivity were often kept alongside kneazles and crups as domestic pets. Given their greater expense and the relative rareness of their availability, however, such acquisitions were in possession of those of wealthier class. Many of the peasantry or even middling class saw little of such creatures in their households._

 _However, though possession of the foxlet gliders in the past is nothing of particular note, it should be recalled that such practices ceased before the instillation of precautionary measures for potentially dangerous magical creatures._

* * *

Stepping out into the crisp morning air, Harry took a deep breath. It wasn't cold enough for that breath to plume in much more than a faint haze before his face when he released it but it wouldn't be far off before the air chilled enough that it thickly cloud. Instead, an invigorating cleanliness flooded his lungs, chasing away the last of the grogginess from his eyes. He set off at a brisk pace across the grounds towards Hagrid's hut.

"Harry, mate, slow down." The sound of Ron's voice called after him, a near whine as though questioning what fates would possibly land him with such a disagreeable friend as to set a rapid pace so early in the morning. He was a late sleeper, was Ron, and it was barely seven o'clock, the sun only just climbed over the horizon. Maybe in another time Harry would have been grumbling alongside his friend.

Not now, though. Harry didn't sleep all that well anymore nowadays.

"On the contrary, Ron," Hermione's voice followed seconds later. "It's you who should speed up. We can't be late to class on the first day. We have a -"

"Reputation to uphold, I know," Ron sighed. "Although, if I was sticking to my reputation, I would be late."

Harry smiled, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket. The banter of his friends continued behind him, with Hermione reprimanding Ron for his layabout behaviour while Ron scolded her in turn with the reminder that "term had only just started" and "there would be time for obsessive study habits when NEWTs finally came around". That, at least, Harry could agree with, even if he did simultaneously agree with Hermione's sentiment. They did have a reputation to uphold, as eighth years if nothing else. As war veterans on top of that.

Harry had tried to escape such expectations. He really had. It was one of the main reasons he'd decided to return to Hogwarts to complete his studies. He was not particularly academically inclined - he never had been in anything besides Defence Against the Dark Arts - but it was that or face the real world. The world who saw his as a hero, as their Saviour.

Harry felt he'd had enough of being a saviour. He was even questioning his consideration of becoming an Auror, something he'd yet to voice to his friends. He was just... done. Done with all of the fighting.

So Harry came to Hogwarts. Hermione was always going to return to pass her NEWTs , even though both Harry and Ron had professed on numerous occasions how she was so smart that she should just be given her marks straight off the bat. Ron, still inclined towards becoming an Auror himself, had grumbled and complained but had eventually followed with the admission that he didn't want to jump straight into training all by himself.

Harry found he'd missed Hogwarts. He'd missed the isolation of the high-Scotland location, the slow pace, the mild ambiance of the scenery that seemed magical itself even without visual evidence of such. Even the memory of the war, of the battle that had raged upon the grounds themselves, seemed to have faded somewhat. Harry was surprised at that; he'd thought that the sight of the simple castle would rebirth painful memories, would invoke a repeat performance of what had happened with the thestrals the previous night.

It hadn't. Hogwarts was just... Hogwarts. It had been repaired over the months since the war had ended, was returned to the picture-perfect scene it had once been. The same school, the same castle, the same home that Harry had known for years. He found that such a realisation seemed to expel even the negative thoughts that accompanied unfavourable memories. If anything had changed it was the people, the students and the professors. They were the ones who remembered, who had changed. They were the ones who needed Harry to be the hero.

Even after only a night of it, Harry found that striding into the wide, open and utterly empty grounds was liberating. It was an escape.

Following Harry's lead, they descended towards Hagrid's cabin at a consistently quick step, trekking the same path they had for so many years. That was comforting too, at least to Harry, just as was the little stone cabin, the smoke puffing from its chimney, the vegetable patch spread before it and the neat little fencing that Harry knew had been felled in the war yet had been replaced as though it was never gone. He stepped up to Hagrid's door and pounded a fist against the hardwood. It always needed a solid knock; the wood was that thick, that sturdy. Funny, how even the door reminded Harry of Hagrid himself.

At the sound of Fang's barking met his knock and at the following, "Outta the way, yeh ruddy thing", Harry shared a smile over his shoulder with Ron and Hermione. The same. The very same. That little piece of perfect was comforting too as the door swung inwards a moment later.

Hagrid stood still nearly twice as tall as them all still, even Ron, despite the fact that Harry suspected they had all largely reached their peak heights. He was already dressed for the day, though such dress was hidden beneath a flowery apron that looked to be more of a muumuu than anything else for its size. Hagrid was beaming, cheeks rosy above his dark beard, when he turned his beetle-eyed gaze upon him.

"Harry, Ron, Hermione. Thanks so much fer coming on down this morning. I really appreciate it, I have teh say." And with a sweeping gesture, shuffling backwards and grabbing the back of Fangs collar as the bloodhound made a break for them, he waved them inside.

Harry smiled in return, though he couldn't help but glance around himself curiously and with just a little apprehension when he did step through the doorway. Hagrid had asked them to come and visit him that morning in their brief exchange of the night before, moments before Hagrid had been distracted by the first years under his care at the platform. His exact words were "I want to show you somethin', wondered if I migh' be able to get yer help with it". Coming from a Care of Magical Creatures professor – or more specifically from Hagrid – such words didn't bode particularly well. If Harry hadn't cared for Hagrid himself quite so fiercely, then...

The interior of the cottage was the same as it always had been, however. Large but modest when compared to Hagrid's physical size. The oversized furniture, the patchwork of blankets strewn across an enormous bed pushed along one wall, the home-made table with so many pockmarks it looked as though it had been the victim of a gunfire. Harry loved it. He loved the fact that it was all exactly the same, down to the warmly crackling fire spluttering in the hearth.

Harry clambered onto one of the dining chairs alongside Ron and Hermione. It was and always would be a bit of a struggle given they were just a little too tall. Hagrid followed them, releasing Fang who, naturally, sped immediately to Ron in a fit of slobbering to shower him with affection. Hagrid stopped only briefly along the way his own seat to heave his massive kettle from where it hung suspended over the fire and clunked his way towards the table.

"Tea, all o' yeh?" He asked, already reaching for the pail-sized mugs before they'd had a chance to reply. "Sorry yeh've had the come down before breakfast and all. I've got some biscuits here I cooked up yesterday morning if yeh'd –"

"No," they all hastened to deter Hagrid in unison. Harry winced slightly at the abruptness, but any slight Hagrid may have perceived was likely dissuaded by Hermione's soothing, "Thank you anyway, Hagrid, but we'll be heading up to breakfast as soon as we're finished. We won't be able to stay for long, you know."

Her tone was faintly on the chiding side, and Hagrid nodded his head vigorously as he finished with pouring milk into their tea. "O'course. Wouldn't want teh be late fer yeh first day o' classes, now, would yeh?"

Hermione turned a pointed " _see? I'm not the only one who thinks as much_ " glance towards Harry and Ron as she accepted the mug Hagrid offered her. Ron actually looked a little sheepish in contrast to his earlier objections, but Harry simply ignored her. He loved Hermione but he wasn't the one who was dating her. He had no obligation to demonstrate shame for his less-than-perfect commitment to schooling.

Instead he turned towards Hagrid. "Yeah, that's right," he said offhandedly, taking a sip of his tea – his very strong, very hot tea that Harry immediately resolved to partake as little of as possible. How had he forgotten about the tea? "We probably can't stay for long, so we should probably get a move on. But," speaking up slightly to override Hagrid's nodding attempts to jump into the conversation, he smiled. "How've you been, Hagrid?"

Hagrid had evidently been on the verge of leaping enthusiastically into whatever he had called them down to discuss, but at Harry's words he quelled the urge. The smile he turned upon Harry was broad but soft and affectionate. Maybe even a little sad. "I've been alrigh'. Getting the house all sorted and everythin' again and… and all." Hagrid shrugged and seemed to forcibly shunt aside whatever touch of melancholy had attempted to settle upon him. His smile widened further. "And just gettin' ready fer the school year and all. Should be good, exciting, getting back into classes. I've got a couple o' real treats this year, though Professor McGonagall – sorry, Headmistress McGonagall – was a little reluctant to be letting me have some o' them." He gave a fond chuckle as though the thought of potentially dangerous creatures upon school grounds was less concerning than the idea of a quidditch match. "But I got a few in. Should be a righ' treat."

Harry exchanged glances with Ron and Hermione once more, seeing the same dubiousness he felt thinly veiled upon their faces. He didn't _want_ to have to step in and instil some sense upon Hagrid's actions, but felt duty bound, as friend, eighth year and feebly upstanding student, to do so. "I'll bet," he murmured, though he didn't think that Hagrid even heard him.

Instead, the half-giant turned his smile upon each of them in turn. "What about yeh all? Didn't hear much o' yeh over the break. How yeh holdin' up?"

"Fine," they all said in unison, and it held as much abruptness and guilt as their previously synchronised declination of Hagrid's proffered breakfast had. This time, Hagrid didn't seem as readily convinced, if the slight slipping of his smile was any indication.

They didn't want to talk about it. None of them wanted to talk about how they'd _really_ been. How Ron had sunken into an unshakeable depression for a good month alongside most of the rest of his family after Fred's death, and that none of them – not Harry or Hermione either – were left anything but heartbroken by his death.

About how Hermione had only just managed to cease starting her mornings with a weeping session that was less open sobs and simply a cascade of silent tears that seemed simply unstoppable, or that she was far from being the only one. She at least managed to be productive and continue on with her morning while crying. George and Mrs Weasley hadn't managed quite as well.

Or of how Harry had developed something like insomniac tendencies, could rarely sleep more than a few hours a night if he managed to close his eyes for that long at all. About how he struggled with nightmares of Voldemort that had never afflicted him _before_ the battle of Hogwarts, andhow he was haunted by the faces of the dead he couldn't save, that he had been to slow to prevent.

Too slow.

Harry didn't consider himself a saviour. Far from it, really. He had survived on pure luck more than anything else. Even his defeat of Voldemort had been a lucky succession of circumstances – that Draco Malfoy _happened_ to have been the temporary owner of the Elder wand, that Harry _happened_ to have managed to disarm him of his own wand and thence _happened_ to have become the owner himself. All of it luck. It had been so close to being catastrophic. If only one thing had gone wrong…

But it hadn't. Harry had to keep reminding himself of that, over and over again. It had been a disaster, yes, but it could have been so much worse, too. _So_ much worse. Reminding himself of that was more of a chanting mantra to Harry than any actual belief in his mental words – that it was over, that there was nothing more he could do about what had happened, that there was nothing more he could have done. If only he believed it himself.

They didn't talk about that. None of them spoke about it, not when Ron still seemed to fall into himself sometimes, removing himself entirely from those around him, or when Hermione woke afflicted by her morning grief. Not when his friends wandered down to the dining room of a morning and found Harry in exactly the same seat he'd been sitting in since he'd left. Harry didn't want to talk about it, not then and not now with Hagrid. So instead he attempted to draw a smile onto his face once more. It was a struggle he hoped Hagrid didn't perceive. "I spent most of the summer with Ron and his family actually. Their new place is coming along great, what with everyone chipping in."

"It's a bit bigger than the Burrow used to be," Ron added, and though he strove to impress some positivity into his words Harry heard the strain it took. He wasn't alone in missing the Burrow, was even less regretful than the rest of the Weasley family. No one spoke of it but the knew house just wasn't the same. Maybe it would grow on them but… it wasn't the same.

"Ah, that's good, then," Hagrid offered. "Be nice teh have a bit more space fer yeh all."

Ron nodded, seemed to take a heartening breath and make a more determined turn towards the positive. "Yeah, I reckon. I've done up my own room and everything this time. A bit bigger that one, too, and the roof isn't quite so low, so I'm happy."

"That's great, Ron," Hagrid beamed. Harry was almost convinced that the smile was entirely genuine when he turned towards Hermione. "And what about yeh, Hermione?"

Hermione fiddled with her mug for a moment before glancing towards Ron. "I was the same, really. Spent a bit of time at the Burrow, and… and went back home for a visit. Just to take a look around."

"Ah." Hagrid couldn't quite hide his awkwardness this time. "I'm sorry about that, Hermione. Must've been hard on yeh."

Hermione shrugged, her attempted smile wavering just slightly. "Yeah. Yeah, I suppose it was. The neighbourhood looks all the same, and even Mrs Sanders from next door recognised me when I stopped by. She waved at me." Hermione paused, and such a reality evidently seemed to sadden more than bolster her. "I went in and had a look around – the renters have checked out and everything, so it was empty. All exactly the same as it was, but… the house just isn't the same without mum and dad in it…"

She trailed off for a moment and the heavy mood – the one they had all been resolutely denying the descent into – weighed upon them further. Ron wrapped a tentative and then suddenly sure arm around her shoulders that Hermione seemed to appreciate like a crutch, leaning into him for a moment as she stared at her mug. Seconds later, however, she appeared to make the concerted effort to shrug it off. Taking a heartening swig of tea that Harry was impressed to see she hardly grimaced at, Hermione continued. "But I've made plans to go to Australia. See what I can do about the Memory Charm I put on them and possibly reversing it."

"That's… that's great, Hermione!" Hagrid exclaimed with enthusiasm perhaps a little excessive, as though attempting to make up for the abrupt melancholy. Or maybe it really was warranted. Harry had known for weeks now of Hermione's intentions. He'd had time to acclimatise with the sheet largess of what she was hoping to achieve. Maybe he had been just as enthusiastic and admiring as Hagrid was initially. "Ah, that'd be great! When do yeh plan on goin' down under?"

Hermione's smile came a little more easily this time, though she still looked a little daunted, just as she did every time conversation of her parents and their _Obliviate_ arose. "I'm hoping to make a trip in the Christmas break. I've had a bit of a scout around over the break – nothing much, not to actually talk to them or anything, but just to see how they were getting along –"

"Yeh, went to Australia over the break?"

"Yes, just for a couple of days."

"Nice down there?"

"I thought so."

"They've got a whole range o' magical creatures down there that aren't found anywhere else in the world, yeh know. Always wanted teh see bunyips in the wild instead o' in a zoo." Hagrid seemed to momentarily lose himself in wistfulness. "Love teh see them…"

"Well, you're more than welcome to come along with me, if you'd like, Hagrid," Hermione offered. "Ron's probably going to come –"

"Of course I'm coming," Ron immediately agreed.

"And maybe Harry if he'd like to –"

"Of course I'd like to," Harry similarly agreed.

Hermione smiled at them both gratefully before turning back to Hagrid. "We've already got a bit of a party coming along. One more addition to the international portkey won't be all that much more expensive."

"Yeah, you should come along, Hagrid," Ron pressed. "Maybe you could bring a drop bear or two back with you."

Hagrid was nodding at Hermione and grinning like a child in a candy shop, but at Ron's words he turned towards him with a reproving frown. "Now Ron, I thought we talked about drop bears in fourth year."

Ron smirked. "Yeah, I remember, I just –"

"No such thing as drop bears."

"Yeah, I remember, Hagrid, I only –"

"And if yeh keep sayin' they exist, people start teh believe they're true. They're koala's, Ron. Koala's."

"Yeah, Ron, they're koala's." Harry grinned, jostling Ron with his elbow. Ron only rolled his eyes and smirked back at him. At once, everything seemed to ease from the sorrowful mood that had briefly afflicted them.

"Shove off, Harry."

"Although, maybe koala's themselves are sort of a little magical," Harry continued. "Maybe you're justified in your viewpoint. We'll make a magical creatures enthusiast of you yet, Ron."

"Har Har, you're hilarious."

"I'm serious. Goodbye Auror career, hello zookeeping. I think you'd be more than capable, what with how much Fang seems to love you."

"On that note, though, Hagrid," Hermione interrupted their teasing and Ron's spluttering yet grinning objections to draw Hagrid's attention once more. "What was it you wanted us to come down here for? We assumed it was probably something about a magical creature?"

At Hermione's reminder, Hagrid started into standing in a screeching drag of his chair across the stone floor until he towered over them. "O' course! Yes, I wanted teh ask yeh all fer a favour with somethin'." Turning, he skirted around the table and crossed the room to his bedside. "So, I've got these lil' creatures that I'll be havin' my sixth years take a look at this year. Just lil' tods the lot o' them, and not all that much trouble, but the problem's that they need someone teh bond with. Someone's."

"Tods?" Ron asked.

"Bond?" Hermione said right on his tail.

"And what do you mean by 'someone's'?" Harry added, leaning sideways slightly in his seat to see what Hagrid was leaning over.

Hagrid didn't reply immediately to any of their queries. Instead, with the slowness of someone carrying something fragile, he rose from his crouch and turned towards them once more. In his arms was what appeared to be a basket, a cradle of sorts, shrouded in blankets. A big cradle, which wasn't altogether reassuring. Harry, Ron and Hermione hastened to clear the table as he approached them once more.

Settling the cradle upon the table, Hagrid rested a hand atop the blankets and turned towards them all with bright eyes. He appeared nothing if not a Muggle magician preparing to fling the draping blankets covering whatever hidden treasures had been placed underneath loose to reveal their absence beneath. He swept his gaze around them all and when he spoke it was in a deliberately hushed tone that from anyone else would have been a normal volume of speech. "Now, they might be a lil' hesitant teh poke their heads out and meet yeh – they tend teh be a bit on the sleepy side when they're just wakin' up, 'specially as they're not too good with the cold when they're lil'. But they're really not all that shy when they get teh know yeh."

"More's the problem, I'd wager," Ron muttered, but either Hagrid chose to ignore him or he was too engrossed in unfolding the blankets atop the basket as though it were a Christmas present. He looked just as excited as he would have had it truly been. More, even.

Harry wasn't sure if he wanted to look. He wasn't sure if he wanted to risk putting his face within striking distance of whatever creature Hagrid was choosing to show them. 'Little', Hagrid had said they were, but then he'd called Norbert the baby dragon little. He'd also said that McGonagall had been hesitant to allow him some of his requests that year, but even that wasn't altogether reassuring. Hagrid loved dangerous creatures, seemed to get his kicks out of caring for them, and the fondness he had turned upon the blanketed cradle was adoringly worrisome. That Ron and Hermione similarly took half a step back from the table suggested they thought the same as Harry.

Raising the blankets, Hagrid slid the cradle across the table towards them invitingly. Hesitantly, with sidelong stares exchanged with his friends, Harry leaned forwards slightly and peered inside.

And stared.

And…

"They're… small," Hermione said, her whispered words surprised.

"And… cute," Ron added, just as incredulous.

Harry blinked. He blinked in his own surprise and actually leaned forwards slightly further. Before him, in a tangle of white and grey and black fluff, were little creatures. _Cute_ little creatures from what he could make out, just as Ron had said. He couldn't see all that much of them – just a wide, long, tampering ear twitching slightly, a small, pointed black nose, a little paw so small as to be no larger than a cats – but they were fluffy. And snuggling. And… and…

"They _are_ cute," he found himself murmuring. Very surprisingly.

"They are at that, aren't they?"

At Hagrid's words, Harry drew his attention from… whatever they were towards him. Hagrid's eyes were crinkled with his smile so greatly that they were nearly hidden. He met Harry's eyes briefly before turning back down towards the tangle of fluffy fur and reaching out a stubby finger to stroke it. "Come on, yeh lot. Up and at 'em."

At his touch, the tangle twitched slightly and began to shiver with motion. Another paw poked out, a head turned so that two rather than one long, bat-like ear even larger than those of a house elf quivered in attentiveness. And slowly, the cluster began to rise to standing. And Harry thought that just this once Hagrid might have been correct in his adoration. They were truly _very_ cute.

Wavering to standing, the three little creatures couldn't have been any larger than a kneazle. Smaller, even, and less sturdy, with the longer, finer limbs of the foxes they vaguely resembled. Long, fluffy fur shrouded them like duck down, from the almost constant pure white of one of them to the largely complete blackness of another and shades of grey in between. Pointed snouts tipped up from the mouth of the cradle, cavernous ears flicking forwards and wide black eyes that seemed to consume most of their little faces blinking hazily upwards. Harry actually heard an admittedly pathetic little "aw" sound from Ron as one of them, the blackest one, took a stumbling step forwards and nearly face-planted into the nest of blankets beneath them.

"Aren't they beautiful?" Hagrid crooned, the "aw" that Ron had uttered thick in his tone if unvoiced. For once Harry could actually agree with him.

"What are they, Hagrid?" Hermione asked, ever the questioner even if, Harry noticed, she didn't quite draw her gaze from the little creatures. "I've never seen anything like them before. Some sort of fox? They almost look like fennec foxes."

"They're _Petaurus vulpes veraque_ 's," Hagrid announced proudly, smiling down into the basket.

"What was that?" Ron asked blankly.

"Foxlet gliders."

"Oh!" Typically, it was Hermione who responded with anything more than further confusion. "I've heard of them!"

"Of course you have," Ron muttered.

Hermione ignored him in favour of frowning thoughtfully up at Hagrid. "I've never seen one before, though, and not really read anything more of them other than that they _do_ exist."

"They're very rare." Hagrid nodded with solemnity that was lost entirely by the smile that seemed unshakeably affixed to his face. "Originally from down south, they are, from southern Europe and north Africa or thereabouts. But they're numbers have been dying down over the past centuries because o' the cities growin' larger and such." He seemed genuinely saddened by the idea, and even his smile died slightly.

Only slightly, however, and only for a second before Hagrid was beaming once more. "Which is why it was so lucky for me to get my hands upon them. Just a couple of lil' tods; their mother weren't too hail when she had them, so their breeder was more than happy to give 'em to me to rear."

"Tods…" Ron murmured again. He hadn't looked away from the 'tods' for an instant.

"What can we do to help, then, Hagrid?" Harry offered. For once he didn't actually feel particularly hesitant to offer his help. The tods – what were they called? Foxlet gliders? – had begun a woozily stumble towards the edge of the basket, towards Harry, Ron and Hermione with eyes upturned. Wide and unblinkingly, almost captivatingly. "We'll do what we can of course –"

"With the time that we have available,' Hermione hastened to add. "We are in our final year, remember, Hagrid." There was faint admonishment in her tone, but she didn't seem particularly aversive to the prospect of offering help either. Not really, if the softening of her gaze as she turned her attention back down to the foxlets was any indication.

"O' course, o' course," Hagrid nodded. "Just as much as yeh can spare. Only…" He reached forwards and petted one of them, the little gray one, upon its head. The creature barely looked up at him. "The problem is that they need to bond with someone – someone's – otherwise they're be… ah… stunted emotionally, if yeh understand my meaning."

"Stunted," Harry asked.

"They need a pair o' witches or wizards or what have yeh teh act sort of as their parent figures. Otherwise they won't have the stability the be able to develop socially properly. Sort o' like… like if a kid was neglected or some such."

If Harry had possessed any urge to retract his offer of assistance, Hagrid's words would have smote them to the ground. It hit just a little too close to home for him and, though he could hardly claim that he had been 'stunted' – or at least he didn't think he'd been – Harry couldn't very well let such a thing happen to someone else. Or something else, as the case may be with the foxlets.

"What do we do with them?" He asked.

"You said bonding," Ron continued, frowning slightly. He'd finally managed to draw his gaze from the fluffy fox creatures. "You mean like, what, like with Familiars?"

Hagrid shook his head. "No, no, not like that. When they reach maturity they won't have quite as much dependence. Sort of like real children, I suppose." He smiled at them fondly, which only served to make Harry feel slightly awkward. At least he wasn't alone in his sentiment if Ron and Hermione's fidgeting alongside him was any indication.

"Why don't you just bond them then, Hagrid?" Hermione asked.

"I can't. Not the right fit."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning that I'm a half-giant and Ber – ah, foxlet gliders are bred to bond with witches and wizards. They wouldn't take to me." He shook his head a little sadly, continuing before Harry had more than a chance to consider either the regret or the half-spoken words he'd guiltily muted himself from speaking. "That and because they need _two_ parents."

"So…" Ron and Hermione shared a glance and Harry tried not to feel too much like the third wheel. Again. "Could, say, two of us look after one? Or two?"

"Only one, most like," Hagrid shook his head. "They don't like teh share. And it would depend on if they could bond with yeh. Shall we give it a go? See whether they'll take to yeh?"

He stepped forwards, sliding the cradle towards them and it was only when Hermione held up her hands with a rapid request to "wait, wait, wait" that he stopped. Hagrid glanced up at her expectantly.

Hermione paused to turn her attention down towards the foxlets and Harry saw her expression visibly soften once more. She wasn't an animal person, Hermione, but then Harry fathomed that there would be few people in the world who wouldn't melt before the creatures. She seemed to have to physically shake herself loose from her staring. "I have to ask what's involved with this before we readily agree to anything. As I said, Hagrid, we _are_ in our final year of school. We'll have a lot of studying to do and –"

"O' course," Hagrid hastened to agree, nodding his fervent understanding. "O' course, I entirely understand that. Yer study comes first. But it won't be much o' a trouble, I assure yeh. They just need the companionship, yeh understand?"

"Companionship. Right," Ron muttered sceptically. "And what does _that_ involve?"

"Just havin' them follow yeh round, mostly. Bring them down on the odd occasion when they're needed fer the sixth years' study. Not that most people wouldn't see them and get a good look at them anyways."

"Follow us around? To classes and stuff?" Ron raised an eyebrow. "That's a little unconventional."

"I don't think the professors would be too happy about that," Hermione frowned, concern starting to grow in her expression.

Hagrid hastened to allay her fears. "Not at all. Professor McGonagall has had a word the them all, said that there's teh be a few students that will have the lil' tods with them at times. No one had any complaints."

Frankly, Harry had to wonder at the supposed 'no complaints', but he didn't question it. If Hagrid said he'd been given approval, the least he could do was abide by that understanding. "Why did you ask us though, Hagrid? Wouldn't it make more sense for some magical creatures students to take them? Some of the sixth years who're studying them, maybe?"

"It would make more sense," Hermione agreed.

Hagrid shrugged, a little awkwardly in a way that immediately invoked Harry's wariness. "Yeah, maybe. But yeh see, Professor McGonagall and I, we thought it best if eighth years were the ones teh look after 'em."

"And why's that?" Ron asked. There was definite suspicion in his tone now.

"Because they have a chance o' getting' a lil' unruly when they're grow up a bit."

And there it was. Harry had been waiting for it. He was just surprised it had taken so long for Hagrid to admit it. "Unruly how?"

"Nothin' too bad," Hagrid waved aside, seemingly unconcerned. "Nothin' a couple o' eighth years can't handle. And when I was talkin' teh Professor McGonagall about it, I said that there would be none better than yeh three to look after 'em."

"Gee, thanks," Ron muttered, shaking his head.

"So?"

Harry glanced back up at Hagrid at his expectant word. Expectant in word and expression, his gaze shifting hopefully between them all. "Um…"

"We don't know anything about caring for them, Hagrid," Hermione reasoned. "We don't know anything about them at all –"

"Not all that much teh know," Hagrid shrugged. "They eat pretty much anythin', like bein' warm, and they'll be happy so long as they're with their bonded." He shrugged again. "There's a reason the tods were so often used as pets in the past, yeh know."

"Just the tods?" Harry asked. He hadn't missed the emphasis. "Not when they're adults."

"Some…times when they're adults," Hagrid picked at the blankets of the cradle once more, rocking it just enough that the foxlets tumbled over themselves to the floor in what was quite frankly a display of weaponised cuteness. A series of small little " _eeeee-yap-yap-yap_ "s arose from them. Ron "aw"ed again seemingly without realising it. "As I said, they can sometimes get a bit unruly when they mature. It just makes it even more important that they get bonded."

Then, without another word, Hagrid fully slid the cradle across the table towards them. The foxlets stumbled into the blankets once more, only this time they clambered to standing more abruptly with eyes turned towards Harry, Ron and Hermione.

They stared, three pairs of eyes peering unblinkingly up at them and Harry found himself immobilised, drawn in and staring in return. Staring, until suddenly three pairs of eyes became three triplets of eyes.

"Oh, bloody hell!"

Ron physically jerked backwards, nearly tripping over the chair behind him. Harry found himself flinching backwards simultaneously, and even Hermione uttered a faint squawk of surprise. The foxlets continued to stare just as before, only this time with a third eerie, pale eyes – pale blue, all of them – beaming from the centre of each of their foreheads.

Harry turned raised eyebrows upon Hagrid. "They have three eyes?"

"O' course," Hagrid said, as if they should have been expecting it. "That's their magical eye, that is. Helps them see who they should bond with."

"Magical eye…" Harry murmured, turning back towards the foxlets. He was just in time to see one of them, the grey one, reach little black paws onto the edge of the basket and heave itself in a tumbling roll onto the edge of the table. A startled " _yip!"_ erupted from it, and Harry didn't even realise he was darting a hand forwards until he found himself with a handful of fluff.

It really wasn't very big at all, he found, no larger than a small cat. That which Harry held appeared to have more patterns upon it than its fellows; largely grey, its fluffy tail – no, not tail, _tails_ , for it seemed to have three – faded into black, paws of a similar shade and most of its snout as black as its eyes. Yet the belly that rolled towards Harry as it sprawled in his hands was pale white, and just above its eyes streaked a pair of parallel lines that looked almost like horns in their markings that curved over its head. Its little black-tufted ears twitched as they turned towards him, flicking as it turned its three-eyed gave up at him.

Harry couldn't look away.

He wasn't all that fond of animals himself. Other than Hedwig, Harry hadn't had a huge amount to do with them. Those he had interacted with were largely either snakes through a Parseltongue gift that he had discovered he no longer possessed, or magical creatures that seemed to mostly possess an intelligence akin to other animals.

This tod – the 'foxlet glider' as Hagrid had called it – felt different somehow. More intelligent, perhaps. Harry wasn't sure how he could tell, but there was something about its unwavering gaze that made him think that it was at least as smart as his old owl had been. Unconsciously, he found himself stretching a thumb over its belly and rubbing the downy fur in gentle rings. Two little paws – they really did seem almost like cat paws – reached with similar gentleness in return and locked around his thumb in something of an embrace. Harry felt himself smile.

"Ah, see, look at that. Perfect!"

Shaking himself from his stupor, Harry glanced up at Hagrid. Hagrid, who beamed down at him like a doting parent before turning a similarly doting gaze upon Ron and Hermione. Harry followed the line of his focus and saw each of them too in possession of one of the tods – the black one was reaching a flexing paw towards Ron where he crouched just slightly before it, stroking its pads against Ron's chest in an oddly affectionate manner, while Hermione appeared to have been lovingly assaulted by the little white one who had proceeded to curl itself to her chest and to utter a crooning little " _yap-yap-yap"_. Hermione looked as though she would melt.

"Now all yeh have teh do is find someone else who'll bond with them with yeh," Hagrid continued.

Immediately their communal gazes turned upon him. Harry blinked. "What?"

"Can't we just…" Ron waved towards himself, to Hermione, even including Harry in the gesture. "I mean, we could just…"

"Do they really need more than one person looking after them?" Hermione asked. Harry didn't think it was a surprise at all that, despite her evident concern for the situation, she seemed to have already and whole-heartedly accepted that she was to be a carer for the foxlet in her arms.

Hagrid shook his head for a moment, then shrugged. "Well, I suppose it could be possible. But they've been found teh respond best teh havin' two. And half the reason I took them in was to try and make sure they wouldn't go Berserk. That happens to most _Petuarus Vulpes Veraque_ these days."

"Berserk?" Ron asked, pausing in his prodding of the black foxlet's head to turn his horrified attention towards Hagrid. "What do you mean 'Berserk'?"

Hagrid waved away the concern once more, though Harry found himself exchanging a foreboding glance with his friends. "Just a bit of a problem with most maturing Foxlet Gliders these days. That's what we're hoping teh avoid. And I'm sure yeh three'll be able teh manage it." He gave them all a confident wink.

Harry stared at him. They he met Hermione's increasingly daunted gaze, then Ron's. Finally, he turned his stare down towards the tiny foxlet in his hands, wriggling just slightly so that it could drag his thumb towards its pointed little snout. It nuzzled his finger as though it were a pacifier. "Um…"

"So…" Ron murmured.

"We have to…"

"Um…"

"I think we need to go to the library," Hermione muttered. "I think it would probably be best that we learn as much about these creatures as possible."

For once, both Harry and Ron nodded readily. Help out Hagrid? For sure, they would do so in a heartbeat. Even if it meant landing themselves with cleaning out flobberworm mucus from their holding barrels or dodging the fiery attacks of blast-ended skrewts. But this? This was different entirely. They were being given sole responsibility for the admittedly adorable little creatures – Harry's was still attempting to suck on his thumb in a way that tickled more than anything else – and they knew very little about them. Very little, and Hagrid seemed to think that they wouldn't _need_ to know all that much.

Harry happened to disagree with that sentiment. Having the foxlet with him the entire time? Having it bond with someone else too, someone Harry didn't have a clue as to nature of, and sharing that responsibility to a degree? How would he even convince someone else that they needed to help? Maybe he could just hold the foxlet before them, turn its slightly unnerving gaze towards them and they would melt just as much as Hermione, despite her objections, still evidently found herself. Or Ron, who seemed nearly incapable of shaking his attention from the black foxlet.

Or himself, Harry realised, for he couldn't seem to shake the resurfacing smile each time he turned his gaze upon the creature curled in his hands, even when considering their circumstances.

More than that, there was this little issue of the 'Berserk' that Hagrid had mentioned. Harry didn't know what it was, barely even knew what the word meant, but what little he did know wasn't reassuring.

"Yeah," he found himself saying. "I think we need to go to the library."


	3. Chapter 3 - Bonding

**Chapter 3: Bonding**

 _Foxlet gliders are notorious for their loyalty to their bearers. In the past, during times when more often kept as pets, this loyalty was shifted both through breeding and magical means onto the witch or wizard who would hitherto care for them. Such a process was at times as detrimental as it was advantageous, however, as due to the nature of the creature's intelligence and their magic, they would more specifically choose their owners rather than the reverse. In an attempt to remedy this difficulty, breeders urged young foxlets towards bonding to first one individual and then another who shared a strong affection or similarly strong feeling towards their original owner. This process is largely a magical phenomena and is irreversible when such affiliation has been asserted._

 _Unfortunately, in the years since the development of such, the frequency of a lessening of such 'affection' between bond owners to be replaced with often less positive opinions varied the inclination towards amicable bond parents to the foxlet gliders. The result of such an alteration lies in that creatures are often bonded to individuals in a less solely positive or even aversive relationship. The moderation of this, in breeders, has been largely experimental – most recently, juveniles have been found to exhibit a strong inclination towards bonding with any two individuals who demonstrate a particularly pronounced regard for one another, regardless of the nature of that regard._

* * *

Draco woke relatively early. That in itself was unusual. Even during the war, somehow, he'd always been able to sleep long and deep. The sleep of the mentally exhausted, his mother had once told him, for which he could only agree. He had certainly been 'mentally exhausted' on more than one occasion. There was just something so taxing about having a horde of violently aggressive murderers in ones home.

Blinking awake, Draco glanced around himself curiously. He had to wonder what it was that had woken him, given that the dark grey curtains that surrounded his bed should have muffled any sound physically as well as they did magically. It hardly mattered, however. When Draco was awake, he was awake. Regardless of the time – nearly seven o'clock in the morning, a quick _Tempus_ charm proved – he wouldn't be able to fall back into unconsciousness.

Swinging himself from his bed, Draco swept aside the curtains and slipped into the dormitory. The boys eighth year dormitory, as it were, not the Slytherin dorms. It had apparently been unanimously decided at the beginning of term that they would all share the same quarters, regardless of house. That the eighth years themselves were something of an 'other' entity.

In the past, Draco knew that would have vexed him. That the dormitory, the bedding coloured in creams, silvery greys and purples, would have frustrated him that it wasn't of Slytherin colours. That he had to share the room itself with not four others but eight. Eight, because nine was how many eighth year boys had decided to return that year.

Not anymore, however. Draco might have that urge, the little objectionable voice in the back of his mind telling him to grumble and complain at the injustice afforded to the noble house of Slytherin, but he quelled it. Not anymore. Or at least not now. Draco couldn't bring himself to bother, or to incite the further regard of those around him. What was the point, after all? It was only for a year anyway.

Instead, he skirted his bed to his trunk and set about _accio_ -ing the robes, shoes and undergarments that he would need for the day into his hands. There was no point in wasting time lying in bed anyway, even if there was nothing else to be done should Draco ready himself accordingly. Classes wouldn't start for nearly two hours, but he hardly cared. Besides, up early and getting ready he may be, he wasn't the earliest to awaken. A glance over his shoulder showed that another two grey-shrouded beds were already absented of their occupants, the curtains half drawn and revealing the mess of slept-in sheets. It only took Draco a frowning moment to remember just who had been there, a brief glance around the rest of the room to identify his fellow eighth year boys.

Blaise was beside his bed on one side, Theodore a little further along. There was Hopkin's bed, Boot a little along and Goldstein alongside. Which left the three Gryffindor's – ex-Gryffindors – huddled up the opposite end of the dormitory. Two beds of which were vacated, and Draco recalled the third as occupying Longbottom. Which left…

Potter and Weasley. What were they even doing out of bed so early in the morning?

Draco considered. He considered for a moment, with the same shadow of obsessive urge to strike up a fight, to know what they were doing, to taunt and tease, that had once so gripped him. For a moment he let himself feel it, feel the urge to go and follow the path of their passage just to _know_ where they went. Of course they were off somewhere, up to something. When were they two – or three, including Granger – ever not?

But then the urge died. Died and dissipated. Draco wasn't here to hound after Potter. Or Weasley or Granger, for that matter. He was at Hogwarts to finish his schooling, his studies that he had to physically force himself to become motivated for in the listless drifting of his circumstances. More than that, however, it was to have somewhere to escape to, if only briefly. His father was in Azkaban, his mother under house arrest – there was no other place for him to go unless he wanted to closet himself behind the manor walls with his mother.

He didn't. Draco loved his mother but he'd had enough of confinement over the past months to want nothing more than to avoid a continuation of such. Bundling his clothes together, Draco resolutely ignored the empty beds of the ex-Gryffindors and made his way to the bathrooms.

When he returned – was it really nearly an hour later? He must have lost track of time – the rest of the boys were swimming into wakefulness. Hopkins stumbled past him, only half awake with towel dragging on the ground behind him, and was shortly followed by Longbottom. Theodore was the only other person even vaguely presentable and… when had he been in the showers? Draco must have missed that too.

Blaise was sitting up in his bed when Draco returned with pyjamas in tow. He followed Draco's passage with sleepy eyes, yawning in response to his raised eyebrow. "You're up early."

Draco paused in the act of stowing his pyjamas away. Then he shrugged. "Not really."

"I've been awake since just after seven. You're up early."

"You woke up just after seven and you still look like that?"

Blaise blinked at him, frowning and rubbing the heel of one hand into one eye. "Like what?"

Draco only shook his head and turned back to his folding. "I'm going to head down to breakfast, I think. Theo, are you coming with me?"

Theo glanced up from where he was tying his shoes. "Why?"

"I don't know. Company, perhaps?"

"Why?"

"You're fighting a losing battle, Draco," Blaise said with a smile, clambering from his bed in a fashion that he somehow managed to make look elegant with his overlong limbs rather than awkward. "You really have been away for too long if you've forgotten. Theo doesn't like company."

Draco hadn't forgotten. Not really. The fact had simply… slipped his mind somehow. Or perhaps his mind had forcibly slipped it, ignoring the fact for hopes of the company he could acquire. Oddly enough, Draco found he had become somewhat dependent upon the simple presence of others around him. He and his mother had spent just about every moment they in one another's company over the past months, had even gone so far as to sleep in the same room, if in different beds. At least they had done until after a week or so, and they'd only slept alongside one another because Narcissa had requested it.

Of course it had been her request.

Now, Draco found that he had almost come to need the company. He didn't know why, didn't know what he expected would happen if he didn't have someone beside him at all times, but the thought of without filled him with dread.

Some of that dread must have made itself apparent upon his face, despite his attempts to limit such a display, for Blaise spoke up a moment later. Already starting to strip off his clothes, he glanced over his shoulder towards Draco. "If you give me five I can come with you."

Draco frowned. "You should take a shower. You'll stink."

"I showered last night."

"Have another one."

Blaise snorted. "You and your unerring cleanliness."

Draco rolled his eyes. Shaking his head, he slung his book bag – largely empty given that it was only first day – and made his way towards the dormitory door. "Well, maybe I don't want your company if you're going to stink up the air around me."

Blaise snorted once more, knotting his tie with expert fingers. His back and white tie, as was the uniform of the eighth years. It looked strange, given that it _should_ have been silver and green. Strange but… Draco found he didn't care all that much anyway. "If you've got such a problem with it then just leave. Prat."

Draco spared him a momentary glance over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow. "Whatever," he replied, then he made his way down to the common room. Despite his words, however, he did pause at the foot of the stairwell to await his friend.

The common room was of the same colouration as their dormitory – the pervasiveness of what was evidently deemed 'neutral colours', was impossible to overlook. Plush purple couches, dark grey rugs over the paler stone floors, walls a creamy shade that was actually relatively pleasing to the eye. Beige drapes hanging down the walls warmed the room further, alongside the heavy, violet curtains that were gathered upon either side of the windows. Even the fire seemed to be tinged just faintly purple, as if in deference to the colour scheme.

Draco settled himself upon one of the desk chairs that lined the walls, each facing said walls as if to promote a rigorous study environment. Not that it would be hard; the common room was small, small and circular and diminutive in comparison to the Slytherin counterpart, and, Draco could only assume, the rest of the house common rooms. Such was likely because their cohort had less than a quarter of the number of any other house and each person who made up that quarter was actually committed to completing their N.E. with as many Outstandings as possible.

Well, except maybe Weasley, but then Weasley had never been a particularly 'Outstanding' student. Oddly enough, the thought didn't even induce a smile from Draco as he pondered the room in silence.

Blaise descended minutes later and didn't comment as Draco rose and fell into step beside him. That was one of the best things about having Blaise as a friend – he might tease and jest, might riddle Draco with sarcasm like the strikes of a hex, but he knew when to tamper it down. They made their way from the top of the centre-most tower in the school and descended towards the Great Hall.

Hogwarts had recovered astoundingly from what it had been. Draco had seen the destruction, just as everyone else had in the days following the battle. Not a floor was untouched, a corridor unblemished, and most of the outer walls and windows were more punctured with holes than a crocheted quilt. The response team had worked wonders upon the ancient castle; not a stain remained, not a smear upon the walls or a stone out of place. It was almost as though it had never happened, the battle erased entirely. Draco wasn't sure if that was better or worse than being able to see evidence of the destruction that had been.

The Great Hall was no worse – or perhaps no better – than the rest of the school. Draco had seen it last night, had seen the hall as it had been thick with students though not as many as there _should_ have been, and just as brightly lit and jovial as every other welcome feast. It didn't make the contrast to the aftermath of the war any better, however, for having seen it twice. Not in the slightest.

The doors were affixed properly back upon their hinges. The enormous pile of rubble that had been the destruction of the West Wing stairwell, that had been heaped to the side of the doors, was gone entirely. Inside, the tables of the four houses stretched the length of the hall, illuminated by the early morning glow of sunlight pouring through the tall, arching windows and beaming from that which stretched behind the staff table.

There were, surprisingly, already a significant number of students in the hall. They were speckled across the tables, nibbling at toast and ladling themselves bowls of porridge that buffeted along every surface. The Gryffindor table was a riot of noise, even louder than Draco had expected and seemingly centralised halfway down the room with a horde of collected students laughing and screeching and peering over one another's shoulders at what Draco could only fathom at. He ignored them entirely, instead turning towards his own table.

Even though, as an eighth year, Draco was permitted to sit wherever he would have liked, he still found himself making his way over to the Slytherin table. It was sparsely spotted with occupants, a pair of third year girls whispering to one another halfway down, seventh year Garth Hinkley working his way through a plate of sausages by himself. There was even the two first years, a boy and a girl, seated at the very opposite end of the room as though they believed it to be their designated spots. They were only first years. Two. That was all Slytherin had acquired that year. If nothing else, it spoke of the number of pureblood families that had chosen against sending their children to Hogwarts that year.

Draco eased himself down onto the bench and immediately reached for the toast rack. Blaise settled himself beside him. "Pumpkin juice?"

"Please."

"I was actually asking if you could pass it to me."

"Then in that case, no. You can reach for it yourself." Draco ignored Blaise's frown in favour of buttering his toast. "It's nearly as close to you as it is to me."

Blaise sighed long-sufferingly. "Must you always be so difficult?"

"I must."

"Wonderful. And here's me thinking you might have outgrown that."

Draco pause in the act of reaching for the jam. He turned slowly to where Blaise was pouring two glasses of juice. "Why would you think that?"

Blaise paused himself. Paused, glanced towards him, and then shook his head decisively. "No, I didn't mean it like that. I didn't mean you would have outgrown it _because_ of that. I just thought –"

"Thought what?"

"Salazar, Draco, do you think you could perhaps ease off on the frostiness a little bit?" Draco didn't reply, only stared at his friend flatly until he sighed. "I _meant_ that such behaviour was a little immature for you. Just like this is."

"Immature how."

"Oh, now you're just being deliberately obtuse."

"Hardly. How?"

"Because you're eighteen now, Draco." Blaise reached his fork across the table and spear a sausage from the central plate, setting about cutting it into bite-sized pieces with a daintiness that bellied his size and general demeanour. "You've been an adult for over a year now. Most people that age are above pettiness."

Draco stared at Blaise for a moment, his knife still poised above the bowl of jam. He stared, and his indignation rapidly died to be replaced with self-reprimand. Honestly, he was getting irritated at that? At such careless words from his friend? What was the point of it? It didn't help that Blaise was right; it really was beneath him.

And yet, as he turned back to his toast, even with the mental chiding ringing through his mind, Draco felt a hint of satisfaction. He was a realist in many ways; even as he revelled in it, even as he pursued the teasing and taunting, the tormenting and, dare he admit it, the bullying that he had enacted in his teenage years, he knew himself to be in the wrong. Draco had enjoyed himself, but it had been… it had been wrong. True, most of his fellow students, holier-than-though Hufflepuffs and chivalrously pig-headed Gryffindors included, did the same, but it didn't exactly justify his own actions.

Draco was an indignant person. He was entitled, he was spoilt, and he liked getting his own way. He would kick up a fuss when he didn't, and that fuss was avoided by his friends and family like the plague. He knew this and he still acted as such. Or at least he used to. He had until last year, with the war, with the Death Eaters, with the return of the Dark Lord in full power. Draco had been cowed, he could admit that, too. Cowed and terrified and he wasn't – ironically enough – ashamed to admit it.

Draco had thought he'd lost that part of himself. That the objectionable, even arrogant person that he had been had fallen prey to the terrors of war and disappeared into the past. But now, after what he'd just felt under the rap of Blaise's words, after such little provocation… perhaps he wasn't so far changed as he had considered himself to be.

"You're terrifying the fourth years."

Draco glanced up from his toast towards Blaise, who didn't appear to have turned his attention from his sausages for long enough to even notice said fourth years. "What?"

Blaise pointed his knife down the table towards a boy and a girl who were deliberately turned away from them. "Those. Scared shitless."

"By me?"

"By you."

Surprisingly, Draco felt a small thrill well within him. A thrill that was accompanied by guilt and sheepishness and immediately suppressed but satisfied nonetheless. "And why would they be terrified of me?" He asked casually.

"Because you're smiling like a mass-murderer, that's why," Blaise explained. "What's got you so happy?"

"Would you really like to know, Blaise?"

"I would. That's why I just asked."

"Are you _really_ sure you'd like to know?"

Blaise paused for a second, stared at Draco, then slowly settled his face into a frown. "Okay, now I'm not so sure. You did that on purpose, didn't you?"

Draco only raised an eyebrow and turned back to his toast.

As it happened, Blaise didn't get a chance to pursue his questioning further, for in that moment, just as Draco took his first bite, the raucous horde at the Gryffindor table abruptly parted as several people rose to their feet to vacate their seats. Draco naturally felt his eyes draw towards them – he'd been drawn to doing as much too often over the past years for a single year of doing without to handicap him so. And, of course, it was Potter who had drawn the attention of the crowd. Potter and Weasley and Granger. Weaslette accompanied them, but it was clearly they three who drew the attention.

Draco didn't think he hated Potter. When he really thought about it, he wasn't sure if he'd ever truly hated him. Disliked, certainly, perhaps even been a little envious of him at times, though he'd never admit as much out loud. But hated? No, Draco didn't think so. He'd hated more people in the past year than he could count. He knew the difference now, just as he knew that, as he stared at the Golden Trio of Gryffindor depating the room, he didn't _truly_ hate any of them. Irritated, frustrated, and disgruntled by, certainly, but hate? No, not really.

What really bothered Draco was that they seemed to attract attention. Just like that, wherever they went. Draco used to love being in the spotlight and even if such a love had dwindled somewhat over the past year – being in the infamous spotlight before the Wizengamot and standing trial had more than diverted most of such desires he might possess – the memory of his disgruntlement, his jealousy, still welled within him. Draco bit at a particularly large chunk of toast and couldn't quite suppress the frown that drew across his face as he watched them.

A frown that became increasingly raised brows the longer he stared at them, incredulity rising alongside. "What the…?"

"What the hell are those?"

Draco could only agree with Blaise's sentiment, even if he couldn't answer him. His breakfast hung from his fingers all but forgotten as his gaze fixed upon the creatures that curled one around Potter's neck, another in the crook of Weasley's arm, the third tucked to Granger's chest like a child would hold a plush toy. They looked like cats. No, they looked like foxes of some sort. No, they weren't foxes, even, for they looked slightly different to that, in colouration and in shape. From what Draco could make out, they appeared to have three tails each. And from the attention that the entirety of Gryffindor table were affording them – or at least Draco assumed it was the creatures and not just the Trio themselves, though he couldn't be certain – they were exceptional.

 _How did they manage to do something so unexpected, so_ noteworthy, _in less than a day of being back at school?_

Draco was aloof. He was past petty rivalries. He was matured and practical, logical and reserved. He was. But he was also just a little bit irritated. _Potter's at it again…_

"Really, what are they?" Blaise reiterated. "Why are they even allowed to bring them into the school? Surely that's not allowed. From what I've heard, the headmistress had plans to keep everything low key and non-threatening this year."

"You honestly think they're threatening?" Draco drawled with deliberate casualness. He'd never seen any creature so _un-_ threatening in his life. Surely something so fluffy even lacked claws.

"They're obviously some sort of magical creatures," Blaise explained, as though it truly were obvious. "Isn't the gamekeeper supposed to take care of them? Owls, cats and toads; that's it. That's all the pets students are allowed." Blaise shook his head. "I suspected the school to be lenient with comfort pets or whatnot, but this?"

Draco glanced briefly at his friend – had such really been considered? Really? Comfort pets? – but only for a moment. A moment was all the chance he got for a second later his attention was drawn back to the Trio. Or, more correctly, to Potter. To Potter and the creature wrapped around his neck who quite suddenly snapped its head upwards, coiled from around Potter's neck jerkily enough that he paused in step to frown curiously upwards as it planted its little feet upon his head. An instant later it squealed.

That was the only word that Draco could call it. With an echoing " _eeeeee-yip-yip-yip!"_ it flung its snout upwards and fluttered its ears like wings. Then, with the attention of the entire room upon it, it scrambled from Potter's head and took a dive.

No. It flew. Sort of. Or at least glided.

Draco felt his eyebrows straining to climb into his hairline as, just like everybody else in the hall, the fox-creature soared across the room on what looked to be some sort of webbing between its front and back limbs. It didn't fly very well, all things considered, and skidded across the Ravenclaw table, leapt into flight – into gliding – then crashed slid across the Hufflepuff table. And back into the air once more.

It flew straight at Draco.

Draco was not fond of animals. He'd never had all that much to do with them and more than that, they were dirty. All animals were dirty and Draco sorely disliked any mar upon his own personal cleanliness. So when the flying fox-thing soared straight towards him, he was on his feet and scrambling away from it so quickly that he almost crashed to the ground in his haste to throw himself from his seat. An attempt that was managed just in time, was steadied and enabled his standing _just in time_ for the fox to crash into him.

It was warm. It was fluffy. And it was wrapping itself around Draco's face. Squealing _"yip-yip-yip_ "s sounded in chatters in his ear, though at a more muted volume, and Draco was…

Draco was horrified.

Mortified.

He wanted it _off_.

Raising his hands, Draco fought to bat the thing off of him as he stumbled backwards. To peel the little feet, the paws – no they were different to paws, seeming somehow to grab at him like fingers in their hold – from their clutching. He felt his back slam into the wall, scrambling to dislodge the creature in a frenzy of rising, crashing horror, confusion, rage and yes, just a little terror. But the thing was adamant about sticking to him like glue. It would. Not. Budge.

Draco had just about decided to spin and throw himself into the wall behind him with the intent of crushing the thing, to hell with the fact that he'd likely give himself a concussion, when the fox abruptly disappeared. Disappeared as though it had been forcibly removed which, as Draco, panting, slumping back against the wall with a hand to his head and the mess that had been made of his hair, saw was true enough.

Potter stood barely four feet away. Potter and the menace of a creature who, apparently for Potter at least, was compliant. It hung in his hands, legs dangling and tails swishing as it tilted its head up towards him like a child peering at their parent. The incessant _"yip-yip-yip_ "s continued like the chattering of a monkey and Draco could have sworn that the open-mouthed lolling of the devil-fox's mouth was spread in a smile.

And Potter. Potter was standing there staring directly at Draco with much of the same expression he'd worn when last Draco had confronted him directly. The expression he'd worn when returning Draco's wand to him. There was evident apology, weariness, a little wariness and awkwardness. A very distinct awkwardness, as though Potter didn't really know what to do but was going to do it anyway.

With an effort at reacquiring composure, Draco pushed himself from the wall. His hands still worked compulsively to fix his hair, his heart hammering in his chest and demanding he gasp for air more rapidly than he already was. Than he'd forced himself to do. He suppressed the urge. The display that had just been performed – unwillingly on Draco's part – was embarrassing enough. He wouldn't heave and pant like a fish out of water just because he _felt_ like it.

Adopting a frown, nearly a scowl even if it was terribly difficult to do so in the face of the expression Potter turned towards him, Draco straightened his back. "Potter. What the fuck was that? What. The _fuck_. Did your little demon just do?" He gestured at it, though it would surely have been impossible to misunderstand to what Draco referred to. "Has it gone rabid?"

Potter opened his mouth to reply, apology welling upon his face more pronouncedly, but closed it again a moment later and pressed his lips together. Instead he turned down towards the little fox-thing and studied it wearily and just a little chidingly. As though the fox even cared, which it definitely didn't if the excited wriggling of its tail, of its entire body, was any indication.

Every pair of eyes in the room was turned upon them. No, was turned upon Potter, Draco knew. Of course they were turned upon Potter and even Draco had to admit that it didn't surprise him. Potter demanded attention, even when he professed that he didn't want it. He wasn't a tall person, nor was he particularly large; if anything he drifted more towards the skinny side, if not quite as scrawny as he'd once been. His hair was a constant mess, was still slightly overgrown as it had been years before as though his time on the run was still lingering upon him in essence, and the state of his robes wasn't that much better.

And yet in spite of it all, Potter drew attention. It was in the set of his shoulders, perhaps, the disregard of any objections that anyone might pose to him. It was in the focus of his gaze as he turned it one more upon Draco, the clear, guileless gaze that peered through his glasses and fringe unblinkingly. More than that, though, it was the shadow of his actions that held weight. Physical mass, stretching out behind him like a shadow. It was the weight of what he'd done but months before, of the menace that he'd defeated and the people that he'd saved in the process. It was in the actions of intended sacrifice that he had enacted, that he had been prepared to commit.

That was what made Potter stand out. It was what drew gazes. It was what made Draco consider that, had they not been rivals for so long, had they not been on opposite sides of the war, had they perhaps not known each other _quite_ so well as they did in all the wrong ways, that he might maybe have fancied him just a little bit. Maybe. He was different entirely to Blaise, the only other boy Draco had dated, but Draco couldn't really find complaint in that fact.

In fancying Potter? Definitely. In that difference in particular? No, not so much.

Which, Draco considered as he gave a physical shake of his head to rid the thought, he really shouldn't be thinking about right at that moment. Wrong time, wrong person, wrong circumstances. _Especially_ when Potter's rabid beast had just tried to attack him. "Well?"

Potter quirked his lips to the side. He tucked the fox-thing into the crook of his arm and scratched his head with the other hand. "Um… how to go about this…?"

"How to go about what?" Draco hissed. He was very aware of the fact that the entirety of the Great Hall, professors in attendance included, were watching their exchange. No, Draco found he didn't like the spotlight anymore at all. Certainly not after such an embarrassing display. "Potter, I demand that you to explain, if you would. Immediately."

Granger, Weasley and Weaslette had drawn up behind Potter and, surprisingly enough, were regarding him with a mixture of curiosity, exasperation, surprise and something that could even be considered amusement. What the…?

"I think… Pips might have just chosen you," Potter said slowly.

Draco snapped his attention back towards him. Then towards the fox-thing – the… the Pips? What was that? "What?"

"Look, this is probably going to take a little bit to explain," Potter reattempted, still scratching at the side of his head with an expression of growing awkwardness. "Long story short, though, McGonagall gave Hagrid permission to ask us to look after these foxlet gliders and they've bonded to us. Problem is that they need to bond to two people. And, um…" Potter glanced behind him towards his friends and his shoulders slumped just slightly before he turned back to Draco. The apology was thickly caked in his expression. "Um… Pips seems to have chosen you."

Draco stared. He blinked. He opened his mouth and stared some more. "What?"

"Yeah, that's what happened with Ginny," Potter nodded, gesturing behind him to Weaslette. "Same thing almost exactly. Pips' chosen you to bond to."

"What?"

"She's bonded to you. With me."

Draco stared some more. Stared, and felt an upwelling of dread settle within him. Potter's words weren't quite registering but… he thought he could discern their meaning just a little. What he could make out wasn't favourable in the slightest. Bond? With the rabid fox? With Potter?

What?

"I…"

"Look, I'm really sorry about this, Malfoy," Potter sighed, and he did indeed sound sincere. "But we don't really get a choice in the matter." Behind him, Granger, Weasley and Weaslette nodded their agreement like a clutch of bloody yes-men.

Draco stared. And stared. And _what_ the _fuck_ was this all about? What the… what the _fuck_? What had be just unwittingly been drawn into? A bond? A magical bond? Against his will?

What. The. Fuck.

Potter was still sheepishly apologetic. His friends behind him wore vaguely similar expressions, though less genuine and more faintly amused. From the corner of his eye Draco caught sight of Blaise staring with eyebrows raised, twisted in his seat so that he could observe the performance like an audience member.

And the little fox-thing – the foxlet glider, Potter had called it, the Pips, was staring up at Potter with a wolfish smile. Smiling, then turning that smile towards Draco. Staring not with two big black eyes – Draco could have sworn it had only had two – but with three, a third wide and pale in the middle of its forehead. Its tails still wriggled and ears still twitched, the chirruping little chatters of _"yip-yip"_ continuing through its half-open jaw.

The bloody thing looked far too satisfied with itself, with the mess it had just made. Draco had just wanted a quiet year. A calm year. A year to collect himself, to work out where he stood, to instil some sense of normality upon his life when he hardly even knew what normal was anymore. But this, this _foxlet_ , had just flipped his intentions upon their head.

Merlin, he wanted to hex its bloody head off.

* * *

A/N: Thank you to all of my lovely readers! I hope you're enjoying the story so far. If you are and you have a second to spare, please let me know what you think. I'd love yo hear from you in the reviews - anything you're inclined to share from comments to questions to constructive criticism.

Thanks again, and I'll be updating again soon :)


	4. Chapter 4 - Studying

**Chapter 4: Studying**

 _Male and female_ _foxlet gliders are sexually dimorphic in only several notable ways. While males are typically larger than females upon reaching ultimate maturity, the most apparent difference lies in tail morphology. While females possess a split tail – the distinctive and often variably coloured 'three tails' – males possess only one. This discrepancy is thought to have arisen due to insulative functions of these multitude of tails. Females, as the more permanent residents of the den during breeding season, have exhibited the use of their tails to act as a blanket for their offspring (Jofferson, 1943)._

 _However, behaviourally there are few apparent differences between males and females, despite males typically traversing greater home ranges. Males and females both have upon various occasions (see references) demonstrated both the moderate behaviour of a Sedate and more aggressive behaviour. It is not solely the males who have exhibited this latter behaviour, the heightened aggression characteristic of foxlet gliders. Females too have been observed to go 'Berserk'._

* * *

"Peta… _Pet-Petau_ … It was, wasn't it? No, that's definitely not it… What was it that she said the other one was? Family or something… _Petauridae_?"

Shaking his head, Harry ran his fingers over the spines of the books once more, along the row of books that looked largely identical to the countless others above and below and around it. He had no idea, really. He wasn't a studier, and though Hermione had already recited to him the 'Family name' and the 'Order' only minutes before, he couldn't remember the Latin terms. He should have written them down, he knew, but… who ever thought to do such things _before_ they were needed?

Pausing his trailing fingers, Harry tilted his head sideways to better read the spine of one book in particular. _Diprotodontia of Southern Europe: A Study of Arboreal Mammals_. Dipro… whatever it was, that was the one Hermione had said, wasn't it? That was the Order name? Harry thought it was but he couldn't be sure.

As it turned out, Hogwarts' library held a surplus of books on magical creatures. _More_ than a surplus; it was a veritable sea of books. Harry hadn't spent that much time in the third aisle from the east wall, not even when he'd been taking Care of Magical Creatures as a subject, so the reality of it was astounding. More so that Harry actually spent the time searching for the books he wanted found – in the past he would hardly have bothered to input the time. Now, though, he had an invested interest.

Tugging the book – the tome really, and who the hell would possibly even write something so long? – Harry propped it against the shelf and flipped it open. Flipped the pages. Scanned the minute writing. _God, this is going to be a dry read_ , he thought resignedly. Worse than that, he didn't know if it even had the information he would be looking for. _How does Hermione do this all the time?_

At his ear, a chittering little " _yip-yip_ " sounded just louder than a squeak. Harry glanced down at the pointed snout that peered down towards the book that he had open, the wide black eyes – only two of them open now, with the third apparently disappeared when unneeded – staring at the pages as though reading the words herself. As had happened so often already that day, Harry found himself smiling. How could he not when looking at Pips? It was like a reflexive response; he honestly couldn't help it. And, after the absence of smiles in the past few months, an absence that had only just begun to be alleviated, he couldn't help but think it was a good thing.

Ron smiled. Hermione smiled. Both of them, with more frequency than he'd seen since the end of the war. Sure, they might have been landed with a largely thankless job by the blissfully ignorant Hagrid – he honestly didn't seem to realise that not everyone seemed to consider creature care a desirable leisure activity – but Harry couldn't think it was a bad thing. Not in the twelve hours since he'd bonded with Pipsqueak.

Pipsqueak was her name. It was what _Harry_ had named her, but he hardly felt as though it had been his choice at all. It just seemed to fit. She was small, tiny, even smaller than her two siblings. Harry thought it was likely that reason that had her chattering sound of a higher pitch, more a "yip" than a "yap". And yes, Harry was _very_ aware that it was more than a little pathetic that, after barely a day, he could already identify Pips' chitters. Was it even possible to become whipped with an animal?

Mrs Figg had countless sickly sweet names for her cats. All of them cute, all of them fuzzy and, in Harry's opinion, all of them ridiculously out of character for what he considered to be her largely unapproachable, unlikeable and grumpy horde of cats. Mrs Figg had said that a group of cats was sometimes called a glaring and Harry had considered the name entirely appropriate for her pets in particular.

Harry thought he would always flinch should the names Mr Tibbles, Snowy, Twinkles or Princess arise in conversation. Too many less than agreeable memories arose at the thought, of long nights spent looking at picture after grainy picture of cats. Just cats. Really, who even cared? But there was one name that stuck with him, a name that somehow jumped out at him from the moment that Hermione had suggested they name them on the trip back from Hagrid's hut.

Pipsqueak wasn't any cat in particular but more shared around amongst the horde as a general title. Maybe that was why Harry felt more inclined to using it. Or maybe it was because Mrs Figg always used the word with exasperated fondness. "Pipsqueak, don't use the kitchen window to come indoors, you'll fall into the sink", or "Share your dinner with Giggles, Pipsqueak". Always to a different cat and usually when chiding. Chiding affectionately, but still chiding nonetheless. It was one of the only things Harry could recall of Mrs Figg's that he had actually though was… sort of cute. It seemed to fit Pipsqueak perfectly.

Ron called his Tod. Harry and Hermione had, naturally, immediately jumped upon his back about how unimaginative such a name was.

"Wow, take you a while to come up with that one, Ron?"

Ron shouldered Harry with a smirk. "Shut up, Harry."

"You could be a bit more creative, Ron," Hermione suggested, sparing a faintly apologetic glance to the newly named Tod where he seemed to be hanging quite happily from the crook of Ron's arm.

Ron turned his smirk upon her instead. "Well, then, what are you going to call yours, if you're so imaginative?"

Hermione glanced down at the white foxlet in her arms. It was a girl, that one, just as Harry's was, distinctive for her three tails. And no, they didn't discover as much because Hagrid had informed them of that little difference between genders, but because he'd offhandedly sexed them as a group as being "two girls and one boy" before they'd left. They'd joined the dots when they'd noticed that Ron's only had one tail, which was weird, but whatever; who was Harry to question it?

Hermione seemed as smitten with her foxlet as Harry felt. Not that he would readily admit it aloud to anyone but it was true. She seemed genuinely concerned about what to name the tod who seemed to have become perfectly content snuggling into her chest just beneath her chin. After a long moment, Hermione replied. "I'm thinking Kitsune maybe."

"Oh, well that makes sense," Ron said with an expression somehow entirely devoid of laughter. Hermione still frowned at him.

"What's it mean, Hermione?" Harry asked.

Hermione turned towards him with a small smile. "It's Japanese. Basically, it means fox –"

"Wait, so you just told me off for calling Tod 'baby fox', but you're just calling yours 'Japanese fox'? I think that's a bit of a double standard."

Hermione sighed long-sufferingly. "It doesn't just mean 'fox', Ron. It is, more correctly, a fox spirit. They're not exactly _different_ from foxes, but the word has connotations of intelligence and magic –"

"How do you know all this stuff?" Ron interrupted her, shaking his head with the awe that he always seemed to adopt when Hermione went on an intellectual rant. Harry could admit now, as he hadn't been able to before they were officially dating, that he suspected it probably turned him on just a little bit. Which was sort of horrifying to consider, even with the knowledge that his two best friends were practically in love, but Harry would acknowledge it anyway. Acknowledge and never think of again.

The rest of the day was an experience, and far from being a poor one. Harry felt an immediate attachment to Pipsqueak that he'd never felt for another creature before, more even than with Hedwig. Pips, for whatever reason, appeared to have developed the same. She was permanently tied around Harry's neck, wrapped like a scarf in a way that was far from annoying, and remained that way throughout the entirety of Harry's classes. No one had really commented on her presence except to croon softly or reach twitching fingers towards her soft fur with the urge to simply touch. Even Flitwick had demonstrated his affection for the foxlets, to say nothing of Slughorn. All of it had gone remarkably well with the exception of…

"Well, it could be worse," Harry muttered to himself. "I could be having to do it all by myself. At least there's someone else to fob the boring books off too."

"Do you often talk to yourself, Potter? Surprising. I'd never noticed before."

Glancing over his shoulder, Harry caught sight of Malfoy turning into the aisle with a collection of books floating behind him. He paused in step as he spoke, tilting his chin just slightly and straightening his shoulders in that way that made him look taller than he actually was. Really, he wasn't all that much taller than Harry. They might even be of a height these days – Harry wasn't sure and had never bothered to check.

Shrugging, Harry turned back to the book propped in his hands and continued to flick through it. "Sometimes, I guess. I don't know. I've never really noticed if I do."

"It's a touch concerning that you don't realise. Talking to oneself is one of the first signs of insanity, you know."

Harry didn't reply. It wasn't because he couldn't think of any particular retort but simply because he couldn't be bothered. He didn't feel the urge to engage in verbal warfare with Malfoy, not anymore – he hadn't felt so inclined for a long time. It just seemed petty, sort of. What was the point in fighting? Besides, unless his ears were deceiving him, Harry didn't think that Malfoy particularly wanted to fight either. His words were casual, almost bored, but with a faint strain to them as though he were pushing himself to speak as such. As though he too could hardly be bothered but felt obliged.

Harry had to wonder at that. Why did Malfoy bother anymore? It wasn't like there was cause to do so, and it would probably be easier for them both if they avoided doing as much. He and Harry would have to work together over the next few months if they were going to care for Pips together, because for some reason the foxlet had decided that Malfoy of all people looked like the _perfect_ person to be her second-bound. Why not?

It had to be Malfoy. Of course, out of all the people in the school, Pipsqueak had to choose Malfoy to be the other person she bonded to. _Perfect._

Harry didn't hate Malfoy. Truly, he didn't. He wasn't sure if he even disliked him all that much anymore when he thought about it. It was hard to really dislike anyone after so much had happened. After the battle, after they'd both nearly died in the Room of Requirement, after their one and only confrontation afterwards when Harry had returned his wand to him. Sometimes Harry felt as if all the anger, all the rage and hatred, had simply been drained from him, that he wouldn't be able to get it back even if he'd wanted it.

Harry didn't particularly want it. Although, all things considered, it might have been a little easier if he did feel _some_ thing more for Malfoy than neutral acknowledgement. Even if it was anger, frustration, or even mild annoyance. Now he just felt… nothing. Such happened sometimes. Harry couldn't bring himself to feel more than that for people he had once been so averse to. Hatred just… it just wasn't there any more.

The problem didn't lie so much in how Harry perceived Malfoy but more in how Malfoy seemed to perceive him. There wasn't hatred from him either, that much Harry suspected. But even so… no, Malfoy was not happy about the situation. He might not hate Harry as much as he used to but that didn't mean he liked him and that dislike was certainly exacerbated by their situation. By the forced bonding. By Pipsqueak.

Ginny had taken it well. More than well, actually, when Tod, had expressed an instant inclination to bond with her. Ron had been distinctly little perturbed because "why does it have to be with my sister?" until Hermione, her head already in a book that she'd acquired from the library in their drive-by that morning, had explained that, from what little she'd gleaned in her swift studies, they tended to bond with someone that either member of the bond felt something strongly for – fondness, connectedness, even hatred. Ron had quickly agreed that Hermione was probably right in that regard, and that yes, that Tod had chosen his sister of all people probably did make sense.

Ginny had hardly let Tod out of her hold since she'd been chosen by him and Tod seemed to love every second of her undivided attention. She'd even gone so far as to scold Ron for the foxlet's namesake. Really, in Harry's opinion and despite Ron's immediate, doting affection for Tod, Ginny seemed to have become the primary carer for Tod. She'd even gone so far as to steal him from Ron for half of their lessons that day. She, at least, seemed more than happy for their particular turn of events.

Lavender was a different story. The ex-Gryffindor girl, surprisingly returned to Hogwarts as only she and Hermione of their old dorm had, had been subdued when Hermione had explained to her during their Charms class later that morning the meaning behind Kitsune's spontaneous 'choosing'. Unexpectedly – or perhaps typically from what little Harry had seen of her since their return to school – Lavender was silent in response. Silent and thoughtful, guarded and just a little confused. But she had accepted it. Accepted that she would play a role in helping out with Kitsune's rearing.

Lavender was different to how she had been. It wasn't just a little bit, either; she was _very_ different, in a way that made Harry fight back the urge to cringe whenever he saw her. It wasn't because of the scars that streaked across her face and that Harry had seen more than a few people staring it – they were ugly, brutal scars, slashing across her cheeks, across the bridge of her nose, and had blinded her in one eye with the scar that ran straight through it. It was horrifying to behold, more because Harry had seen Lavender when it happened, had seen her actually _being mauled_ by Fenrir.

But more than the scarring was her demeanour. Lavender had always been a bright, bubbly, superficial and, all things considered, sort of stupid kind of girl. She was exactly the type of person that Hermione disliked for being her polar opposite. But since Lavender had returned to school – a reality that had surprised Harry but he'd accepted just as he had everyone else's return – she was different, so altered as to be an entirely different person. She kept her eyes downturned as though to avoid those of the people around her. She rarely raised her voice above a murmur, sometimes speaking inaudibly without her apparent realisation. She never smiled anymore to say nothing of laughter, and seemed to have developed a sort of nervous twitch whenever anyone drew too close to her.

Harry had been surprised when Kitsune had chosen Lavender. Not because of Lavender herself, even if the change in the girl was so pronounced that it was hard not to be surprised at the foxlet's supposed fondness for her, but because he couldn't fathom where the bond hard arisen from. Hermione said it was generally elicited by strong emotions, either positive or negative, from one person or the other and that the foxlets picked up on that. At first Harry had thought it was from Lavender, that perhaps she was still jealous even over a year after their break-up, that Hermione was dating Ron? But that didn't seem to be characteristic of Lavender anymore. It didn't seem possible for the quiet, downtrodden girl to feel anything so powerful.

Hermione had only confused him further when he'd murmured a brief question to her during their Potions class in the moments that Lavender had taken herself to the storeroom. A strange, unreadable expression had crossed her face and her gaze had drifted towards the storeroom as her hand settled upon Kitsune draped over her shoulder. "I think it would probably have been driven by me, actually."

"What?" Harry asked, surprised.

Hermione glanced towards him, a small, sad smile upon her face. "Me. I think Kitsune probably picked up on my emotions for her and…" She trailed off and deliberately turned towards her Potions textbook. Harry was left only more baffled, had exchanged a confused glance with Ron, before subsiding. He didn't understand, but he didn't feel it was his place to ask, to push for an explanation.

Lavender might have been quiet. She might have been reserved and hesitant, and Harry might have even expected that she would immediately shrink, withdraw, profess that _no_ , she _wouldn't, couldn't_ help to look after Kitsune. But she hadn't. Though not quite as ready to offer assistance as Ginny was, not quite as eager, she'd listened to Hermione's explanation and had slowly nodded her understanding. She'd accepted it and, from what Harry could make out from their successive classes, she was at least attempting to be helpful. She'd sat next to Hermione in every one, though that might just have been because they were the only ex-Gryffindor girls in eighth year.

Lavender was a good partner. Ginny was a good partner too, regardless of how Ron was already complaining about having to work with his sister, and of how much she appeared to want to steal Tod from him.

But Harry? Harry got Malfoy.

It might not have been that bad, all things considered. Maybe. Harry knew he didn't hate Malfoy anymore, if he ever truly had, and he suspected that Malfoy might not dislike him _quite_ as much anymore either. They might have even been able to work together for something as simple as classwork had they kept their interactions to a minimum. Harry didn't think he would get angry with Malfoy – he almost hoped he could but suspected he wouldn't be able to – but that didn't mean he would take any and all of the shit Malfoy could dish out.

Unfortunately, the reality was far different because quite clearly Malfoy _hated_ animals. That much was apparent from their years in Care of Magical Creatures – the incident with Buckbeak swum immediately to the fore at that – and his compassion for them had evidently not been enhanced over the years. Certainly not since Pipsqueak had flown at his face.

Harry used to love seeing Malfoy unhinged. To see him frazzled and distressed, spluttering yet speechless. It had meant a victory for him, would soothe his wounded pride over the last time that Malfoy had left him in a similar state. But seeing him leaning heavily against the wall of the Great Hall, his fingers seeming to be attempting to fix his hair with mindless compulsion and his eyes widened in a startling mix of confusion, incredulity, indignation and yes, even a little bit of fear. Harry could see it. He hadn't felt even a touch of satisfaction. If anything he'd felt guilty. Malfoy had been through a lot the previous year, just as Harry had. Just as all of them had. Maybe he was as easily triggered as some of the younger and even the older students were, and maybe Pips' loving assault had been one push too far for him.

Malfoy hadn't taken the explanation well of his newly acquired role well. He'd immediately dug his heels in and set to objecting. "I've got study to do", "I don't have time for this", "I don't want to", "It's an animal, it doesn't need to be coddled"and "it's already got you, why does it need _me_ around too?"

Harry had replied as best he could. That it was only for a few months. That it was a favour approved by McGonagall. That Foxlet Gliders were special for some such reason and could he just put up with it for a while? It wasn't as though he had to do all that much anyway. Just being around Pips should be enough.

Naturally, Malfoy rejected the suggestion. Harry had thought he'd changed, that he'd mellowed a little over the past months, the past years. But apparently that entitled, spoiled, self-centred prat that he had been still remained. Harry hadn't been angry for the fact, merely… resigned. It wasn't like there was a whole lot he could do about it anyway.

In fact, the only time he had been annoyed was in the second period of their Potions lesson. Pipsqueak had been the perfect foxlet throughout the entire class. Harry knew as much even if he didn't know anything about foxlets; he could see Ron having to maintain a constant source of entertainment for Tod with his quill that seemed to have to dual effect of similarly distracting Ron, while Kitsune seemed incapable of properly holding herself on Hermione's shoulder and kept slipping down her chest with a startled _yap!_ Hermione had taken to merely holding her steady with one hand.

Pips had barely moved but to snuggle more closely into the nape of Harry's neck. He considered she might have liked the warmth up there and could hardly find cause to complain. She really had been no trouble at all except when, about halfway through their second hour, she'd begun to whimper. It was barely audible, but Harry couldn't help but be distracted by it. Her whimpers continued throughout the rest of the lesson, and it had only been when Harry had tried to soothe her that he'd realised the source of her distress.

She was looking at Malfoy. Looking at Malfoy and whimpering as though saddened by the distance he'd placed himself across half of the room.

Harry had a free day after that. He was only taking five NEWTs anyway, so Potions was his last subject. Hermione had Ancient Runes after lunch, and Arithmancy after that, but he and Ron had nothing but time on their hands. Time that Hermione, when she stood up from the table at lunch, had ordered them to spend in the library.

Harry would have. He had every intention of doing so – for once he actually felt inclined to study – and was even looking forward to finding out more about Pipsqueak. Except that Pips herself had continued a constant, barely audible sniffling of whimpers since they'd left Potions and Harry didn't need to look towards her to know her gaze was trained on Malfoy, even as she tightened her little paws around his collar.

Harry sighed. He shouldn't. He really shouldn't make exceptions for the foxlet. If he started getting into the habit of doing so now then there would be no turning back. He would be setting a precedent – get in there early, Uncle Vernon had always said.

Maybe it was because it was Uncle Vernon's voice that spoke it in his mind but Harry immediately stood up from the Gryffindor table at the thought. Stood up and made to follow Malfoy as he departed from the Great Hall.

"Hey, Harry! Can't you just wait for a man to finish his lunch?" Ron called after him around his half-eaten sandwich.

Harry barely glanced over his shoulder towards his friend. "Sorry, Ron. I think you'll have to spent the time in the library just you and Ginny for a bit." He didn't explained further and to the sounds of Ron's repeated "Hey!" he left the hall in Malfoy's wake. Moments later found him outside of the classroom for Ancient Runes

Harry didn't say a word as he entered the room and crossed the room towards Professor Babbling. A brief word which had invoked a smile from the kind-faced witch and he'd turned back towards the classroom and made his way to his seat. Hermione's surprised blinking had become an incredulous stare as he seated himself besides Malfoy. Malfoy, who turned with his own surprise as he'd taken a seat beside him and settled comfortable with a hand stroking at Pipsqueak's head.

He stared silently for a long moment. A very long moment as the classroom gradually filled with the rest of the seventh and eighth year students. Then, just as the bell sounded throughout the halls, he spoke. "Potter. What. Are you doing here?"

Harry paused in his plucking at Pips' head and spared Malfoy a sidelong glance. "Is it a problem that I'm sitting next to you?"

"Is it a -?"

"Does someone else usually sit here?"

Malfoy was silent for a moment, his face an unreadable mask but for the faint hint of surprise. "No. Other than Pansy I… Why are you -?"

"Good. That's good, then." And, in a display of academic adherence that Harry doubted he'd ever been inclined towards in his entire life, he reached into his bag and pulled his Transfiguration textbook from his bag, propped it open on his lap and set to reading from the very beginning.

Babbling hadn't yet started speaking when Malfoy reattempted his questioning, though he spoke in a hushed tone nonetheless. "What are you _doing_ here? You don't take Runes, Potter."

"No, I don't."

"Then why -?"

"Pipsqueak was upset and she kept staring at you, so I figured she probably just wanted to spend some time with you or something." Harry shrugged nonchalantly, Pips shuffling around his shoulders as he did so to readjust herself. "She's stopped now, though."

"Pipsqueak?" Malfoy asked faintly.

"It's her name."

"Pipsqueak?"

Harry didn't reply this time. Instead he attempted to focus his attention solely upon his textbook, a hand raised to scratch at Pips' head. She crooned softly, barely audibly.

After another long moment, Babbling began her instruction with, "Right, so we'll start off with just a little revision from last… from sixth year. If you'll all open your textbooks to page sixteen, chapter two." Malfoy appeared not to hear her, however, and instead seemed intent upon staring at Harry. Harry ignored him – he did, though he wasn't exactly concentrating on the book in his lap – until Malfoy continued in barely more than a whisper. "You're following me because your rabid squirrel was whinging?"

"She's not a rabid squirrel. And that's just how their bonds work." _Apparently_ , Harry added to himself, for he had no more idea of how they were _supposed_ to behave than Malfoy did.

"It attacked me. It's rabid," Malfoy hissed. Harry ignored that too, and Malfoy seemed to realise he would persist as such for after another second of pretending to flick through his Runes textbook he whispered at him once more. "This is going to be a serious problem, Potter."

"It's only a problem if you make it one," Harry murmured in reply.

"It's a problem. Why do you even do this? What's in it for you?"

Harry shrugged beneath Pips' accommodating shifting. "Dunno. Maybe it's just the right thing to do."

Malfoy paused for a moment and a sidelong glance saw him as appearing incredulous. "The right thing to do? The right thing – Merlin, Potter, do you ever just -?"

"Malfoy, is there a problem?"

Babbling paused in whatever words she was speaking to turn towards their table, her book lowered in her hands. She arched an eyebrow and peered down her nose through the pince nez propped on the bridge.

Malfoy turned his attention towards her. Harry saw his lips thin for a moment before he replied. "Professor, I was wondering at the disturbance in our class. Potter has brought his creature and –"

"Yes, I can see that, Malfoy. He has already spoken to me and I have afforded him permission."

Malfoy's lips thinned further. "I find such a presence somewhat disruptive, Professor."

Babbling's eyebrow arched further. "Is that so?"

"It is. Perhaps if Potter could –"

"Then this will be a good lesson in perseverance for you, Malfoy." Then Babbling turned back towards her book. "If you'll recall, the translation process of less than ideal artefacts is a delicate study…"

Harry had to duck his head to hide the smile that threatened to touch his lips. He hadn't missed the slight, twinkling glance Babbling had spared him. He'd hardly more than noticed the grey-haired witch throughout his entire time at Hogwarts but he abruptly decided he liked her.

Malfoy seemed stunned by her words. That astonishment faded with evident disgruntlement from the slight frown upon his face as he turned back towards Harry. Speaking in an even quieter voice than before, he muttered, "Tell me you're not going to make a habit of this, Potter."

"Of joining you in Runes?" Harry shrugged. "Maybe. Depends if Pips needs me to."

"You can't be serious. You're going to play to the whims of a rabid squirrel?"

"Maybe. And she's not a squirrel, or rabid, Malfoy." Harry paused, reaching up to scratch at Pips' head once more as she butted her pointed snout into his cheek. "Besides, I don't actually see a problem with doing that."

"More trouble than it's worth…" Malfoy muttered. It sounded like a curse beneath his breath.

"I don't think so."

"Be better to just kill the damned thing and be rid of it…"

Harry wasn't angry. He didn't get angry anymore. He didn't even think he was all that irritated when he heard Malfoy's words and slowly turned his gaze upon him. He stared, long and unblinkingly, until Malfoy glanced up at him. No, Harry didn't think he was angry, or irritated, but evidently whatever Malfoy saw in him concerned him for his cheeks paled slightly and he suddenly pressed his lips together once more and dropped his gaze back to his textbook.

"Maybe easier," Harry said, and he didn't even bother to keep his voice down. "But it's not going to happen."

"Is there a problem, Potter?" Babbling asked, attention drawn to them once more.

Harry turned towards her after a moment of staring at Malfoy's pale profile. He opened his mouth to reply but found he didn't need to as Malfoy did for him. "No, Professor. No problem."

There was a pause. A silence that could have held just a touch of surprise from Babbling. She recovered quickly, however, and gave a curt nod. "Good, then. Now, if we'll take a look at the image on page twenty-three, noting the inscriptions around the edge that spiral in a counter-clockwise direction…"

Harry turned his attention back to his Transfiguration textbook, intermittently raising his hand to touch Pips' head as she pressed her snout into his cheek. He didn't absorb all that much of it, really, though he found that his first Ancient Runes lesson had been quite enlightening, if not so much in an academic sense. Malfoy seemed to have caved slightly.

Only in that instance, however, it would seem, for as Harry tucked the _Diprotodontia_ or whatever-it-was book beneath his arm and continued his search, Malfoy was back to his bored yet objectionable self. Strolling along the aisle, he began to return the books back in their places as he spoke. "I have to wonder at your intelligence, both that you'd speak to yourself and that you'd name your squirrel such a thing."

"She's not a squirrel," Harry murmured in distracted reply, gaze drifting along the shelving as he kept only a peripheral eye on Malfoy. He'd barely spent more than half a day alongside him – Runes had been enough intimacy and he'd left him with a sworn promise that Malfoy would join them at the library after dinner which, most surprisingly, he actually had. "I would have thought that after over an hour of reading stuff on foxlet gliders you'd have realised that."

Malfoy didn't immediately offer a snarky reply. He didn't scowl or glare at Harry, which was enough to speak of the development of his character as anything else. Almost as much as the evident sense of obligation he felt for offering insults and barbed comments. They honestly seemed to be a strain. He was silent until he finished filing the books into their proper places, simply urging the thickest into the air to be caught by magic and slotted back into its place three rows up. When he turned towards Harry it was with a slight, curious frown upon his forehead. "Why did you call it that?"

"Hm?" Harry glanced towards him.

Draco gestured towards Pips. "That. Why did you name it that?"

Harry felt his fingers naturally rise to pet at Pips' head in a habit that he seemed to have developed startlingly quickly. "She's a she, you know."

"I don't really care."

"Just thought you'd like to know, 'cause you sound like a simpleton when you call her an 'it'."

Malfoy blinked rapidly for a moment, mouth popping open before he seemed to make a deliberate attempt to close it. He lifted his chin slightly once more. "Whatever. Why'd you call it – her – that? It's a stupid name."

"Thank you for your contribution. I'll bear that in mind the next time I'm naming a foxlet." Then, without another word, Harry tugged a second volume – _Mammals on the Wing –_ from the shelf and turned back down the aisle. Surprisingly, Malfoy didn't stab him in the back with a snide, final remark.

It was a strange situation they'd found themselves in. Harry honestly hadn't seen himself as being inclined to spend any more time with Malfoy than was absolutely necessary. It wasn't because he hated him but because he didn't _want_ to. Because there was no _need_ to. He didn't have any further obligation to Malfoy, and though he didn't dislike him as much as he once had, it wasn't as though he felt any fondness for the other boy. He doubted he ever would.

It wasn't only that, however, that was strange. It was as much the nature of the time they spent together that was curious. Studying; they were actually studying together. And it wasn't as horrendous as Harry might have assumed it would be. Or maybe that was simply because he found, for the first time, what he was studying to be of interest.

Foxlet gliders were a rare species. They'd never been particularly common from what Harry could discern but they were even rarer nowadays. He'd learnt that they were actually more closely related to possums and sugar gliders, that the little flaps of skin he'd thought were wings of a sort were called a 'patagium' and that the foxlets couldn't actually fly with them. He learnt that they would hardly even be able to glide with them until they were matured, as Pips' tumbling attempt to cross the Great Hall towards Malfoy had proven. Hermione had discovered – because of course Hermione would be the best as discovering – that they matured anywhere between three months and a year and that, given their size, it was possible that the first of them could actually mature mentally within a week or two. Which, Harry thought surprisingly, was a little sad. He'd only had Pips as his companion of sorts for a day and he'd already come to appreciate the fluffy scarf she'd become around his neck.

Unfortunately, and a little surprisingly, they had found very little about the supposed 'Berserker' state that Hagrid had briefly mentioned. Surprising because from what they had read of it, it sounded to be a somewhat concerning situation.

 _"The rise in Berserkers has become increasingly troublesome in recent years as juveniles had matured into those more aggressive and less Sedate."_

 _"It is recommended to maintain constant vigilance when around a Berserker in their agitated state."_

 _"Avoid inducing juveniles into Berserker states if at all possible due to the harm they could potentially inflict upon not only territorial rivals but their own potential mates."_

 _"Berserkers have historically even been used for pit fights, a sport that was ceased in the mid eighteenth century when the number of Berserkers that escaped the fighting grounds and attacked the audience rose exponentially."_

All of it was shocking. Shocking because, as Harry turned his attention to Pipsqueak curled at his shoulder upon listening to Hermione's words, her wide eyes peering up at him as though she had been waiting for the moment he spared her a second of his attention, he couldn't fathom it. Aggressive? Pips? He couldn't… Harry just couldn't imagine it. And if the expression on Ron and Hermione's, on Ginny and even Lavender's faces was any indication, neither could they.

The biggest problem they'd encountered was that apparently none of them had worked out when this 'Berserker' state actually occurred, or how to prevent it from arising.

Harry drew towards the little cluster of tables they'd set up for themselves, spread with a sea of books both open and closed and a number of sheets of parchment half covered in variable writing implements. Hermione had suggested they write down every piece of information they could find about the foxlets just for safe keeping, though Harry found it hardly necessary. It was of the greatest unlikelihood that Hermione would forget anything.

He stopped at the seat beside Ginny who, momentarily picking Tod up from her lap to shuffle her chair over slightly, offered him a weary smile. Ginny wasn't all that much of a studier either, no more than Ron was. An hour with her nose in a dusty book of miniscule script was taking its toll. Hermione and, surprisingly, Lavender appeared to be the most adept in their studious pursuits.

"Found anything while I've been gone?" Harry asked, settling himself into the seat beside Ginny. He and Ginny had always gotten along well, even after they had decided to 'take a break' after the war. It was a healthy break; Ginny had said she didn't feel ready for anything, not right now, and Harry was content to oblige. He loved Ginny, just as much as he did Ron and Hermione, but right now… now, he didn't feel the need to be in a relationship with her. Maybe in the future, but not now. Besides, they all had their NEWTs to study for.

Ginny shrugged at his question. "Not me. Hermione might have found something, though."

Harry turned across the table towards where Hermione was scribbling something so quickly across the parchment that it looked to almost as though she were merely drawing lines. "Hermione?"

"One sec," she said, lifting the hand from Kitsune's rump for a moment to raise a finger in the air before resettling it. Really, Kitsune must lack claws for how feeble her attempts at maintaining a hold on Hermione's shoulder were.

Harry waited. And watched. And glanced towards Ron – who was distracted with tickling Tod's belly as he rolled in Ginny's lap – and Lavender, who met his glance momentarily before dropping it once more to the book spread before her.

Malfoy returned, with his assumed bored expression affixed once more upon his face and settled himself into the seat that, though technically considered a part of their group, could possibly similarly be deemed upon the outskirts. He'd just finished fixing his robes so they settled properly – unnecessarily, in Harry's opinion – when Hermione set her quill down. "Okay. Here's what I've got."

"Is it about the Berserk thing?" Ron asked, glancing up from Tod towards her with a touch of hope in his expression.

Hermione shook his head to the communal slumping of shoulders. "No, but it's still interesting."

"Of course it is," Malfoy muttered, but everyone ignored him and Harry wasn't even sure that he realised he spoke.

"It's about their third eye. It's called the Empathy Eye, which I suppose it where they get the word _'veraque_ ' from in their name."

"That's Latin, isn't it?" Ron asked.

Hermione nodded. "Right. So we know that they used their third eye to find who they wanted to bond to. Apparently they can also use it for empathetic readings of sorts."

"Empathetic readings?" Ginny asked, reaching down a finger to stroke Tod's forehead right where the third eye should have been. There was not a trace of it, however, Harry knew, and Tod seemed to nothing short of revel under her touch, wriggling in her lap in delight. "So they, what, can read emotions from people or something?"

Hermione nodded once more. "They're particularly sensitive to strong emotions – which explains why those who they bond to typically have some sort of emotional connection – but they can also pick up on other things. Happiness, sadness, anger, frustration, love, affection. In this book here by Aeneas Petralia, it says that in the olden days, something like six hundred years ago, foxlet gliders were used as companions for wealthy, young, single witches who would otherwise find themselves alone much of the time."

Their table set to nodding slowly, understandingly, but Harry couldn't help drawing his gaze towards Malfoy. Malfoy, who had similarly glanced sidelong at him only long enough to meet his gaze. That was something Harry didn't understand. If Pipsqueak's choice was based upon some sort of 'feelings' between the two of them, then what was it? Was it hatred still? In that case, was it just based upon Malfoy's emotions? Harry didn't think he felt much of anything for Malfoy – he didn't feel much of anything save mild, distracted affection or sympathy for most people besides his closest friends, really – so it must have been from Malfoy's end. Which was… actually sort of saddening. Did Malfoy really dislike him so much that it had taken only his one-sided opinion to attract Pipsqueak's attention? Harry didn't much care whether Malfoy liked him or not but it was a bit of a downer that he disliked him _that_ much.

Or was it something else entirely? Was it because they had, for a time, used the same wand? Even though Harry had given it back to Malfoy, had relinquished his claim for his own holly wand, he couldn't forget that. Did it hold some sway? Was that some sort of basis for a 'connection'?

"So what does this mean?" Ron asked, drawing Harry from his thoughts as his attention focused solely upon Hermione as though she held all the answers. Which, realistically, she did. Or she did in their group, at least.

But Hermione only shrugged. "I guess it means that our emotions will be felt and rub off upon the foxlets? I'm not sure. But even not being sure, I'd suppose it's probably a good thing to try and be as cordial to one another as possible."

"Probably best not to make them upset," Lavender murmured in agreement, barely audibly. "Maybe that's what makes them go Berserk?"

The thought made them all shift uncomfortably, and Harry found himself exchanging a glance with Malfoy once more. This might be harder than he'd anticipated.

They remained in the library until Madam Pince kicked them out at nine o'clock. Surprisingly, Malfoy had actually stayed with them the entire time, so it was that the majority of their party – Ginny parting ways halfway back to the eighth year tower – travelled together back to their dorms. When they clambered into their common room, it was to the brief, curious glances of the rest of their fellow students and barely a wave of acknowledgement.

As Hermione and Ron made for the couches near the fireplace – really, there was almost enough to seat every eighth year – and Lavender wandered after them at a slower pace with Kitsune propped on her shoulder, Harry paused to catch Malfoy's arm briefly. Only briefly, because the surprised and almost affronted blinking that Malfoy turned upon his hand wrapped around his wrist urged him to drop it immediately. "Hey, Malfoy, listen."

Malfoy slowly raised his chin to meet Harry's eyes. "What?"

Harry paused, hand drifting unconsciously towards Pipsqueak. "Look, I just want to apologise for this happening. I mean, it's not really my fault but –"

"It sort of is."

"No, it's not, actually," Harry rebuffed. Malfoy's words didn't irritate him exactly but he felt the need to correct him regardless. "Anyway, I just wanted to say sorry for the situation, I guess, and maybe, just for however long it takes, if you could work with me? It would make things easier if you didn't object every time I had to sit next to you because Pips is upset."

Malfoy's gaze settled upon Pipsqueak, who began a chorus of quiet " _yip-yip_ "s at his attention. He shifted slightly, as if uneasy, though the slight shuffling of his feet was the only indication of such. Slowly he shook his head. "I don't know why you bother, Potter."

Harry paused for a moment, thinking, before shrugging. He didn't know why he bothered, why he went out of his way. For Hagrid? Maybe a little bit. For Pipsqueak? Definitely. For some reason he just felt the urge to ensure she was well cared for, that she was comfortable, that she was happy. Harry didn't know why, couldn't explain it, but that was the truth. "I don't know either. I just do."

Malfoy stared at him for a moment longer. He stared at Pipsqueak too. Then he gave a small sigh and shook his head once more. "Whatever, Potter. Just… do whatever. So long as it doesn't disrupt my studies." And with that, Malfoy turned and wandered across the room towards where Zabini lounged alongside the fire, book resting open upon his chest.

Harry stared after him for a moment, stroking Pips' head. Well. He supposed it could have gone better but it certainly could have gone worse. Much worse. As he crossed the room to join his own friends, Harry considered that in this instance at least he would take what he could get.


	5. Chapter 5 - Acclimatisation

**Chapter 5: Acclimatisation**

 _The bonding process is of particular importance to the juvenile foxlet glider. Those born within their natural environment readily assume such a bond with their birth mother and father or, in frequent cases, the Helper male or female present to assume such a role (see_ Sedate Gliders _and_ Communal Parental Care _below)._

 _When bred in captivity, this coupled bonding is just as integral for the wellbeing of the juvenile, regardless of the nature of those bonded. Due to the sensitivity of the foxlet gliders to the emotional state of their bonded, they rely strongly upon their human counterparts' emotional stability, support and camaraderie. Should undue stress be experienced, the likelihood of maturing into a Berserker increases exponentially._

* * *

Draco's eighth year at Hogwarts was not going as he had intended or even assumed it would go. Not at all.

Firstly, there were his classes. They weren't nearly as stimulating, as consuming, as demanding of his undivided attention, as Draco had hoped they would be. He had attended Hogwarts the previous year for the most part, and though he alongside his fellow students had been distracted – very distracted – much of the time, he had actually absorbed more of the class content than he had realised. More than that, it was remarkably similar to what he was _supposed_ to have learnt which, in any other circumstances, would have been a good thing. Eighth year? Not so much.

Secondly were the other students. They looked at him funny. Even the professors cast him sidelong glances, suspicion thinly veiled – Draco knew it. He was certain of it, even if Blaise and even the passively bored Theodore had informed him time and time again that they didn't, that no one was staring at him, that no one thought he might snap into a raging Death Eater any moment and attack them all. It didn't help that their arguments were enforced by the fact that, well… no one did do anything. When Draco glanced up from his breakfast, he didn't see any narrowed gazes settled upon him. When he glanced over his shoulder during class it wasn't to see his fellows staring daggers at him. The only eyes that he found consistently rested upon his were wide, black and nestled in a grey and white face that seemed to grin every time he caught sight of it.

And therein lay the third cause of his distress: the foxlet glider. Damn him, but Draco hadn't anticipated such a curved ball to be thrown at him. They were always there, at least one in every class Draco attended because for some reason Granger seemed to get jittery when she couldn't see at least one foxlet in her vicinity and she shared all of Draco's classes. They weren't disruptive, not really, unless Potter had decided to sit next to Draco and the little creature that coiled around his neck like a fur scarf chittered and yipped happily at Merlin only knew what. Life? The professors didn't object to their presence, and the rest of the students in the room seemed to grow from crooning adoration to mild awareness and finally to acceptance as the foxlets became just another piece of furniture in the room.

How Potter, Granger and Weasley had managed to convince the professors to allow them to bring the creatures with them everywhere Draco knew not. He couldn't only resign himself to the reality that he was, more often that he would have liked even in the past when he'd actually gloried in being in the spotlight, the focus of an unblinking black-eyed gaze.

Creepy. It was creepy. And worse than that, Potter had made good his words from their first day back at school and seemed to silently and studiously ensure they spent time together. Just spent time, often with no words exchanged, because apparently it seemed to 'soothe' the Pip – the rabid squirrel.

Worst of all, however – the absolute, _absolute_ worst – was that maybe, just maybe, if only a little bit and only sometimes… maybe Draco might have thought it was cute.

Maybe.

Sometimes.

Just a bit.

Draco didn't like animals. He didn't, except for some reason, something in his brain caught sight of Pipsqu – of the rabid squirrel and melted slightly like a simpering old grandmother over a newborn baby. He hated how filthy they were, except in his sidelong study he'd noticed that Pips – that the squirrel – wasn't dirty in the slightest. That she – _it_ – didn't even seem to shed its fur. Animals were noisy, except that Pipsqueak wasn't really but for her nearly inaudible chitters, and they were demanding, which again, Pips didn't appear to be. She seemed content to simply drape her skinny little limbs and three tails around Potter's neck.

Draco didn't like animals, but for some stupid, ungodly and absolutely ridiculous reason, he didn't mind the foxlets. Maybe. Just a bit. Draco would never admit as much of course – _never_ – but he suspected that Blaise might have guessed as much if the hastily smothered smiles that drew across his face whenever Draco caught him watching him staring at Pipsqueak was any indication. Blaise and Pipsqueak herself, because for some reason, Draco seemed to simply _know_ that the creature was intelligent. And that was in addition to the whole 'empathy' thing.

It was infuriating. And besides, when had Draco become unable to think of her as anything but a she? As Pipsqueak – stupid name that it was – rather than a horrid little creature? He wasn't sure. Draco didn't like to think about that too much either. In fact, he steadfastly refused to do so for he swore that Pipsqueak and Blaise both seemed to know when he thought about the foxlets. Their eyes seemed to draw naturally towards him, knowingly. Even Potter's did sometimes, though his more in simple regard than actual understanding.

Draco had been spending more and more time with Potter. It just seemed to happen, just as Blaise somehow seemed to fall in step alongside him when they just _happened_ to sit alongside the ex-Gryffindors in class and just _happened_ to leave the Great Hall at the same time as one another to head back to class, or to the common room, or to the library as they had numerous times in their first week.

It was unnerving to realise how it just seemed to… happen. Draco hadn't consciously made the decision to fall in step alongside Potter wherever he went – quite literally wherever, for Potter was attending most of his classes alongside him now to simply sit and complete his own homework, or play with Pipsqueak, or to do Merlin knew what when he simply sat, a hand resting on Pipsqueak's head staring vacantly ahead. It was a strange sight to see, Potter being listless, one that Draco wasn't entirely sure how to feel about.

In fact, the only times that Potter wasn't alongside Draco with the grey fluff ball in tow, or seated across the Great Hall at the Gryffindor table within sight of one another, was when he took himself down to the sixth year Care of Magical Creatures sessions that the gamekeeper apparently routinely requested him for. They attended in a round of sorts, varying between the three foxlets each week with the fourth having them all visit. Granger had been particularly nervy that Arithmancy session when they were all absented. Draco didn't think she took more than a handful of notes throughout the entire lesson. Even stranger was that Draco seemed to have taken precious few himself. Professor Vector must have been light on that day.

Suffice it to say, they had become something of a group, the lot of them. There was Draco and Blaise, Blaise seeming to find the whole situation unerringly hilarious. Potter kept pace with him when not alongside Weasley and Granger, their three foxlets most often hanging off their three shoulders. Brown generally trailed after them, a step or two behind as though she didn't want to be exactly a part of their group – she'd changed, that girl, and Draco had never thought he would be one to consider it but her quietness, her down-trodden attitude, was actually worse than her previous incessant bubbliness. Although, distant as she was… Draco thought she might have come a little out of her quiet shell with the presence of the foxlets, especially when she had one slung over her shoulder. It seemed to give her some sort of emotional strength or some such bollocks.

Weaslette tagged along much of the time too, an unhappy coincidence given that seventh and eighth years shared the same classes. And more often than not, wherever Weaslette went her vague, incessantly-confused friend Lovegood would follow. Occasionally – more frequently with Weaslette than Brown – the foxlets would pass from the exclusive and direct care of the Golden Trio to be shared between their partners. Weaslette actually demanded it sometimes, going so far as to bodily drag the black foxlet – what was it's name? Toddler or something equally stupid – from her brother and into her arms. There had been more than one shouting match between the siblings about where the foxlet would sleep, and Weaslette was winning on increasingly frequent occasions.

How had this happened? How had Draco Malfoy come to spend the majority of his time with Gryffindors, ex or otherwise? It was mind-boggling. And surprisingly, it was that more than anything else that urged him to shake off the frequently descending melancholy that threatened to settle upon him whenever he considered his situation, or the past, or when he got a letter from his mother at home. One couldn't afford to be careless when around Gryffindors; they were strange, predictably unpredictable, and, though Potter appeared to have vanquished their past rivalry like a Pepper-Up Potion shrugged off a cold. It was confounding, and just a little annoying. Why was Potter so disregarding of him?

That, perhaps as much as the simple presence of the foxlets, served as a distraction from the heaviness of Draco's thoughts. Potter and their rivalry had always been present, something that was always there just as much as the school was. A constant. A solid. But this? This was different. Just another thing different, but changed in an alternate way to the changes that arose from the war.

Draco didn't like it any better. Not one bit.

That, and the fact that, in spending more time alongside the ex-Gryffindors, Draco had come to see a side of each of them that he hadn't before. Oh, Weasley and Granger were mostly predictable but for a few key aspects; Granger was incessantly bossy, would tell her two friends what to do with such frequency that they appeared to simply take it in stride, the words flowing in one ear and out the other with barely a "Yep" of acknowledgement. Weasley was generally a layabout, doing minimal work and appearing to need Granger to urge him to pick up his quill before he even contemplated beginning the constant and increasingly large pile of papers they were being given from their numerous professors. He was only taking five N.E. but he seemed to be drowning beneath them.

But besides that, Granger appeared to have a soft spot that Draco hadn't realised before. She assisted those around her in their work unconditionally with such ease and familiarity that Draco knew that such couldn't have been a new thing. She must have been doing it for years without his notice. She even helped Margery Silverswell, a seventh year Slytherin, when she'd worked herself into such a fit of distress during one Potions lesson that she looked on the verge of doing herself serious damage with her flailing. That was a surprise. Just as it was a surprise that Weasley, though a layabout, actually appeared to be quite perceptive and, despite leaving his homework to the last minute time and time again and nagging at the selectively deaf Granger to help him, got moderately good grades. That, and he was surprisingly sappy – he clearly fawned over Granger, rarely taking his eyes off her for long, and then only to spare his attention to his black foxlet who he seemed to dote upon nearly as much.

Potter was a different story.

The Boy Hero was _the_ Boy Hero. He was chivalrous, brave, courageous and righteous. He was strong and steady, was the rock to which so many clung in the war. He was the centre of attention, drawing eyes seemingly without his will or desire and similarly seemingly unaware that he even did so. The focus of fellow students and teachers alike seemed to follow him wherever he went, like sunflowers towards the sun.

Potter didn't seem notice it at all. Far from revelling in the spotlight as Draco once had, as he used to suspect that Potter did, he seemed entirely removed from the situation. Or, when he did notice, it seemed to unnerve him slightly, to make him uneasy. He was moderately studious, sitting somewhere between Weasley and Granger and somehow managing to fly beneath the radar of Granger's notice when she was scolding her boyfriend – yes, Weasley and Granger were actually dating now, sickeningly enough – for his lacking study habits. Potter was surprisingly quiet much of the time too, and Draco wasn't sure if that was a product of the war or simply something that he hadn't noticed because they'd always been trying to yell each other's ears off whenever they'd confronted one another in the past. More than that, he was very obviously the third wheel of his friend's relationship. Whether such was a new thing or not Draco didn't know; had he always been the 'third' one to Weasley and Granger? Surely not. Surely not Boy Hero, Saviour of the Wizarding world and all-round 'Great Guy'.

Draco wasn't sure, though. He'd thought he'd known, but now he wasn't certain. Maybe that was why Potter spent so much attention upon the foxlet? He seemed to have taken to caring for Pipsqueak like a duck to water, and Pipsqueak seemed to revel in the attention that he afforded him. More than Toddler or whatever its name was did under Weasley's attention, though the idiotic creature did have a bit of a tendency to delight in quill-play – Pipsqueak was definitely smarter – or when Weaslette snuggled him like a plush toy to her chest. Nor Granger's foxlet, whatever it's name was. It was something Japanese and Draco didn't attend enough to Granger's words to really hear. The white foxlet seemed to be constantly curled upon Granger's shoulder, or nestled in Brown's hands and snoozing like a baby in a cradle.

Potter definitely had a way with his foxlet. Maybe it was just that he spent more time with it then the rest of them because Pipsqueak didn't have to divide her time between two bond-parents so much? It wasn't Draco's fault, of course; it _wasn't_ his fault that he wouldn't touch the thing. Not after weeks would he touch it. It might not be dirty, true, but he'd had one close encounter with the foxlet-gone-rabid and that was one too many in his opinion. No, Potter could sit next to him if he must, but he wasn't going to have Pipsqueak sitting _on_ him.

Still, even if he wasn't going to touch it – _ever_ – Draco could appreciate that Pipsqueak was cute. To himself only, of course, but yes, he could admit it. She was especially cute when Potter turned his full attention and that stupid, lopsided smile upon her and tickled her belly to make her wriggle in his lap like a worm. Draco could hardly help but be distracted in Ancient Runes of a Thursday afternoon by the pair of them. And if he had a little difficulty discerning whether he looked at Potter or Pipsqueak more... well, no one was inside his head and he was fairly well-practiced at Occlumency from his mother's teachings. His thoughts at least were safe.

In fact, when Draco shook himself out of his staring, he realised he hadn't paid attention to anything Babbling had said in the past five minutes. Potter wasn't speaking or making a sound, and they sat at the back of the room so any of Pipsqueak's movements wouldn't be disruptive to anyone else. Potter was slumped lazily in his seat, his gaze downturned and Potions essay neglected. One elbow was propped upon the desk before him, cheek resting in his palm as the fingers of his other hand danced and tickled over Pipsqueak's belly. That damned smile was stretching wider with every moment he watched the foxlet wriggle in his lap. That smile was actually fairly absent most of the rest of the time. Not that Draco cared but one did notice such things.

In his lap, Pipsqueak lay on her back with her four little paws in the air. Her pointed snout was pointed towards Potter, mouth slightly open and tongue poking out just enough to see a touch of pinkness. With each touch of Potter's fingers, she would wriggle and twist, her mouth opening wider as if in a smile as her ears flicked and spun. The fluffy coils of her three tails batted at one another, brushing against Potter's stomach and wagging like those of a dog in disjointed asynchrony. One would have to be blind to overlook the fact that Pipsqueak _adored_ Potter. Her eyes only ever left him to glance towards Draco, and then only briefly and only occasionally.

"You know," Draco murmured, "your Potions essay isn't going to get written if you sit there playing with the squirrel all day."

"You know," Potter replied without even glancing up, "your class notes aren't going to write themselves if you sit there watching all day. You should pay more attention to Babbling. Interesting stuff, she's saying."

"You'd know, would you?"

"I've been listening."

Draco snorted quietly. "I'm sure. And you're entirely comprehending it too, of course."

"Mmhm," Potter hummed in reply, tugging on one of Pipsqueak's tails as he did so that she arched and kicked her legs as though running on the air. Her open-mouthed grin widened, ears batting. "All that stuff about the rituals – I didn't even know that the age of the charcoal you use to inscribe the runes affects the potency of the ritual. I assume you'd have to use stuff that had burned at least a week ago for a Cross-Bound Ritual, right? Otherwise you'd probably bind too closely, I'm guessing."

Draco stared at Potter for a moment as he shifted his cheek in his palm. Had he missed Babbling saying that? When he thought about it, Potter's reasoning was fairly obvious. Draco just hadn't ever considered it before. Had Babbling said it aloud or had Potter just guessed? Was he actually paying attention to the class or… "You're not as stupid as I thought you were," Draco found himself saying, and had to snap his eyes closed in a wince a moment later when he realised he'd spoken aloud.

"Gee, thanks. I appreciate it, Malfoy."

"It wasn't a compliment," Draco muttered, cursing himself. It _wasn't_.

"Sure. You keep telling yourself that," Potter replied distractedly, gently pulling at the tufts of Pipsqueaks ears so she writhed and snapped in playful delight.

Draco pressed his lips together momentarily. "It _wasn't_. I was merely highlighting the fact that I have indeed considered you a helpless case and that such basic knowledge puts you on par with the lowest of the rung rather than being an irretrievable simpleton."

"Mmhm," Potter hummed in that infuriating way that Draco had come to realise he had. "You know, if you have to explain your insults it makes them a whole lot less insulting."

"It wasn't a direct insult or a taunt, it was the simple truth," Draco fumed.

"You sure about that? You weren't just trying to bait me into a rise?"

"No, I wasn't. I would never be so petty."

"Oh, so that time in fourth year with the badges?" Potter murmured barely loud enough to be heard in what was evidently a nonchalant tone. He still hadn't even glanced up from Pipsqueak, appeared to be paying the foxlet more attention than he was Draco. It was infuriating. "Or in third year when you pretended to be a Dementor to scare me off my broom? Or in fifth year Defence when you went on that week's splurge of copying Hermione's every answer to Umbridge's question from the back of the room – I know you knew I say you."

"Of course I knew, I –"

"'Cause that was kind of pathetically immature, Malfoy."

Draco blinked at Potter. Blinked and couldn't fathom what to say in reply. They had been bantering – not really even arguing but bantering in a positively _infuriating_ way – and Draco was rendered speechless. Pathetic? Immature? The way Potter said it made it seem merely an observation, not even really an accusation. As though he was simply stating a fact as he saw it with no personal investment in the matter. What…? Why did he…?

Potter had definitely changed. Matured, maybe, if more mentally than physically. Draco didn't like it one bit.

He was spared from having to reply to Potter's words, however, for the bells' ringing. Snapping his attention to the front of the room – damn, he really had missed an entire boards-worth of notes – he swept books, parchments, quill and inkwell into his bag and rose to standing. Potter rose alongside him, slinging his bag over his shoulder and stuffing his Potions essay into his bag as he hefted Pipsqueak up to his neck to drape her in his customary living scarf. It was so natural that the two of them could have been doing it for years rather than weeks.

Making their way from the Runes classroom, Draco ignored, as usual, Granger falling into step beside Potter. Just as he ignored Lovegood matching his pace on his other side. For some reason she always seemed to stick to his side, as though wishing to sandwich him next to Potter to prevent an escape. The quietly attentive regard she often turned upon Draco didn't allay his suspicions of that fact. She was a weird one, was Lovegood.

Typically, Granger reached up to run a hand over Pipsqueak's tails. Brown had taken to caring for their foxlet in the hours that they had Ancient Runes and Arithmancy, and Granger seemed to be suffering withdrawals from its absence. Predictably, Pipsqueak ignored her attention entirely. Granger may as well have been touching the scarf that Pipsqueak so resembled.

"Hey, Pips, did you have fun up the back there?" Granger turned a faintly admonishing glance towards Potter. "You didn't get your Potions essay done, did you?"

Potter only shrugged. "Did you by any chance take that last set of notes from the board?"

"Of course I did," Granger said with a frown. "Why?"

Potter shrugged once more. "No reason," he replied, but he did turn a pointed sidelong glance towards Draco. A glance Draco would have to have been a fool to misunderstand. What, so Potter was unnecessarily observant now? How did he even notice that Draco hadn't written up the last of what was on the board? Draco tried not to glare at him. That would give the game away. No, Potter might not be the same but he was an entirely new and different kind of annoying. Draco didn't like it any more. Not at _all_.

"You know, foxlet gliders don't really like being touched by anyone besides their bond-parents."

As one, Draco, Potter and Granger all turned towards Lovegood. The short blonde girl didn't speak loudly, always maintaining that airy, vague tone of hers, but her words drew their attention nonetheless. She spouted such things on a relatively frequent basis, Draco had noticed. It was as much intelligent commentary as a product of whatever fantasy ran constantly through her mind. She actually uttered some considerations about the foxlets that held some merit, even is just as often it was empty speculation that was entirely outlandish. Draco still had difficulty discerning which was which at times.

"I suspected as much," Granger said, her hand dropping from Pipsqueak who still didn't appear to notice in the slightest. "Kitsune doesn't really take to anyone besides me or Lavender."

"It's a danger thing," Lovegood intoned solemnly, nodding her head sagely. "So that, when they were in the wild, they didn't stray too far from safety."

"Sort of like stranger danger," Potter muttered.

Lovegood beamed abruptly, solemnity stretching into a smile so quickly as to be disconcerting. "Precisely!"

"You know quite a bit about foxlet gliders, don't you, Luna?" Granger asked the obvious, almost a mimic of Draco's thoughts of but moments before. "I've noticed you sometimes…"

Lovegood nodded with her persisting smile softening slightly. "Oh, yes. I came across them when I first started researching Umgubular Slashkilters. They were both in the same book, actually, though they are of course no way related. Foxlet gliders don't even have horns!"

Draco didn't bother hiding the roll of his eyes. Lovegood might come out with the odd rough diamond, but generally she just seemed to spout bollocks. Umgubular Slashkilters? True, Draco hadn't really heard of a foxlet glider until he'd seen one – he probably would have believed Lovegood had invented them had he happened to overhear her tell of them – but Umgubular Slashkilters _definitely_ didn't exist. _Definitely_.

Fighting the urge to stride away from their party – Pipsqueak had affixed Draco with her unwavering gaze and for some reason Draco increasingly found he couldn't leave when under its study – he spared a sidelong glance for Potter as he turned towards him. No, when Potter turned towards Lovegood, he realised. "I didn't know you'd read up on foxlet gliders, Luna. Do you know much about them?"

Lovegood sighed heavily, tilting her head to turn her attention briefly to the ceiling as though pondering. She even went so far as to tap her chin. "I suppose you can say I know a little bit about them? I do quite like magical creatures, you know."

"I had noticed," Potter murmured, sharing a knowing smile with Granger. Draco rolled his eyes once more.

"Just bits and pieces that I've picked up really. Like their Empathy Eye –"

"I read about that," Granger interrupted a little pompously.

"And how when it's opened and looking directly at you the foxlets can impress a particular emotion upon you. Sort of like to soothe anger or distress or sadness or some such."

Draco felt himself slow in step and he wasn't the only one. He turned raised eyebrows upon Lovegood who continued for another few paces before realising that Draco, Potter and Granger had stopped. "What?" She asked with vague curiosity.

"I didn't read that," Granger said faintly.

"Are you sure that happens, Luna?" Potter asked, a frown settling upon his brow.

Lovegood nodded fervently. "Oh, yes. It definitely does. I read about it happening in the _Diary of Cacklebury Cinders_. She used to own one, you know. Her father adopted one for her when she suffered from terrible despair after the death of her husband."

"Cacklebury Cinders?" Granger echoed dubiously. "Is that a real diary or just a work of fiction, Luna?"

"Of course it's a real story. She was a real person, and she had a foxlet glider."

"I've actually heard of her," Draco said before he could help himself. He fought against the cringe that threatened to bunch his shoulders as all eyes turned towards him. He paused for a moment as a pair of seventh year Hufflepuffs passed them in the corridor. "Not from this diary or whatever – I heard she was one of the brightest witches of her time. That she was the one who first produced the Merry Malady Draught."

"That's… sort of at odds with Luna's story." Granger frowned at Draco as though she were questioning the validity of _his_ words rather than Lovegood's. The _outrage_. Draco felt his lip curl as they picked up their step once more.

"Not really," Lovegood replied, walking ahead of them backwards so that Draco was certain she would likely tumble head over heels down the next stairwell they encountered. "She was a despairing widow until she got John, but after that she turned over a new leaf. She was a very good brewer, one of the best of her time. She set the foundations for developing the Calming Draught, you know."

"John?" Potter asked, raising an eyebrow.

"That was the name of her foxlet."

"Of course it was," Draco muttered, shaking his head.

"After her dead husband, you understand," Lovegood explained.

"That's… a little heartbreaking," Granger said, her hand drifting unconsciously towards Pipsqueak. The foxlet didn't appear to give a damn when she petted her head, still staring unblinkingly at Draco. "But I didn't know you were _that_ knowledgeable about the foxlets, Luna. Why didn't you tell us when we were researching? We could have used your help, especially if you've knowledge that we can't find in the school library." Granger's words seemed to physically pain her to utter, as though she was wracked with guilt for questioning the school's resources.

Lovegood shrugged, dancing slightly as a trio of third years skirted around her to make in the opposite direction. "You didn't ask."

"You could have offered."

"I've always had an interest in unusual creatures, Hermione. I'd have thought you would have asked if you wanted my input."

"Yes, but I didn't know you knew."

"You could have asked."

"I _know_ , but I didn't –"

"Anyway," Potter interrupted, much to Draco's relief. "What else do you know, Luna? Is there anything else you can tell us, anything we don't already know?"

Draco turned an expected gaze towards Lovegood as she tapped her chin once more. She had to be good for something, right? "Um… maybe?"

"Such as…?" Draco drawled, rolling his hand before him in a gesture to " _get on with it_ ".

Lovegood paused for a ridiculously long moment before replying. "Well, for instance I know, Harry, Pipsqueak could mature any day now. When they grow longer than half a meter from nose to rump they're able to mentally mature."

"We already knew that," Granger muttered. Her pride appeared to still be slightly stung by Lovegood's oblivious counterarguments of moments before. "They were pretty much able to mature since the day we got them. Mentally, anyway."

Lovegood nodded. "Yes, well, I suppose they probably were. It's alright though, Harry, I don't think Pipsqueak's likely to go Berserk."

As one, Draco, Potter and Granger all paused in step once more. Draco actually – horrifyingly and shamefully – found himself exchanging a surprised glance with the two of them before he realised what he was doing and snapped his attention back to Lovegood. "You know about them going… Berserk?"

Lovegood nodded. "When they possibly become Bersekers, yes."

"Why didn't you tell us about this before?" Granger asked, her frustration evident once more. "I know you've been around when we've been discussing it. Why didn't you say something?"

"Because you didn't ask."

"Yes, but you could have still _said_ –"

"Anyway," Potter interrupted once more. "What do you know, Luna? All that we've been able to work out is that it's something that can happen when foxlets mature, that it can happen to a boy or a girl, and that it's because of stress or something."

Lovegood nodded, smiling at Potter like a professor would to a student who had just realised the answer to a particularly prickly question. "That's right." Then she fell silent.

"And?" Granger prompted. Draco had to bite back to urge to smirk in spite of himself. Granger and Lovegood were friends, he knew, but their entirely opposite personalities appeared to rub Granger at least the wrong way at times.

"Oh, yes," Lovegood started, as though she had forgotten she was meant to be explaining. "Well, from what I've read and from my own hypotheses –"

 _Oh Merlin, her own hypotheses,_ Draco thought with another roll of his eyes.

"- it can happen due a number of reasons. If they're unhappy, or if they undergo particular physiological pain or distress, or if their bond-parents don't treat them or each other very well. They're quite sensitive, you know, considering their empathy magic and all. More recently – in the last few centuries or so – there's been many more Berserkers maturing because of their environmental stressors."

"Meaning?" Potter asked. Draco didn't miss the glance he spared him at the mention of bond-parents 'not treating each other very well'. But Lovegood had said Pipsqueak was alright, hadn't she?

"Obviously, because of environmental damage," Draco explained, shrugging aside his concern. Honestly, it really was obvious. "Loss of habitat, cities encroaching upon their territories, pollution – that sort of thing. I assume." Draco wasn't certain – it was his own hypothesis of sorts, based upon absolutely minimal knowledge – but there was no way he would ask _Lovegood_ for clarification.

Lovegood clarified anyway. She turned her approving smile upon Draco with such open satisfaction that he couldn't supress the curling of his lip once more. Lovegood didn't seem to care, or at least didn't notice. "That's pretty much it. I mean, it's not really a problem that they mature into Berserkers – they're needed in family groups to act as protectors of their community and all. It's more just because they're usually less fertile than Sedate adults."

"What exactly are they, when they turn into Berserkers?" Potter asked. His frown had settled more deeply and his hand was stroking compulsively at Pipsqueak's tail, firmly enough that the foxlet uncoiled slightly to touch his cheek with her nose, wide ears quivering questioningly.

"They're the aggressive counterpart of the Sedate foxlets, aren't they?" Hermione asked, for once seeming to submit to Lovegood's greater. Would the surprises never cease?

Harry nodded with a sigh that bordered on exasperated. "Yeah, but I mean what actually _are_ they? The Sedates are pretty self-explanatory from the name, right? They're not aggressive and we worked out that they were the ones who reproduce or whatever, right? So the Berserkers are…?"

Draco sighed loudly just as Lovegood opened her mouth to reply. "I'd say that the term 'Berserker' is similarly self explanatory." He ignored the frowns that Potter and Granger both turned upon him, Granger's surprisingly fiercer. Potter – as had become his norm – just looked slightly thoughtful and maybe just the faintest touch annoyed. Maybe not even that.

Lovegood was nodding her approval once more, however – damn, but Draco wished she would stop doing that – as she settled her smile upon him. "I'd say so. It's sort of like they go a little bit crazy with confrontation. They tend to be a bit bigger than Sedate's when they're fully grown – they keep growing quite a bit after they mentally mature, you know – and they're angrier."

"Angrier?" Potter asked. He glanced once more down at Pipsqueak, who peered up at him with something that Draco thought very definitely resembled worry. It was as though she was could feel his concern – which, Draco reasoned, considering she had that weird empathy magic, she possibly could. "I couldn't imagine Pips ever getting angry."

"It used to only be one or two per family group, I suppose," Lovegood explained. "Until more recently, that is. I guess that's probably why their numbers have been decreasing?"

"Because they're not Sedate so they don't mate as easily." Granger surmised. Lovegood nodded.

All eyes, even Draco's, settled upon Pipsqueak. He wouldn't admit it aloud – Merlin, he'd _never_ admit it aloud – but Draco didn't like the thought of Pipsqueak becoming an aggressive rabid squirrel for real. Or worse than a rabid squirrel, considering that apparently, from what he'd read of them, they grew to the size of a large dog. Already Pipsqueak was nearly outgrowing her self-assigned role as Potter's scarf. She seemed to almost smother him half the time.

"I guess we know why Hagrid wanted the foxlets to be properly looked after then," Potter muttered. "To try to mature them into Sedate's, I suppose."

"There's nothing all that wrong with Berserkers," Lovegood reasoned, turning on her heel and finally beginning to lead them down the corridor once more. Draco, Potter and Granger followed slowly in her wake. "I mean, they're more aggressive for sure, and they react more angrily to triggers than Sedates do. But they're only _really_ uncontrollable except with magic when they come across an opponent or a trespasser or something. Or just when they reach their moment of maturity. It's supposed to be quite sudden, I've heard."

Draco glanced back at Pipsqueak just as Potter and Granger shared a glance of their own. Lovegood's words weren't reassuring in the slightest. "Well, now we know why McGonagall wanted eighth years to look after them," Granger reasoned, though she did eye Pipsqueak a little warily after that.

 _We do indeed_ , Draco thought to himself. _Trust an ex-Gryffindor headmistress to assign potentially crazy magical creatures to the care of students. Honestly…_

They entered the Great Hall with barely another word amongst them, all lost in their own thoughts. Well, except for Lovegood that was, who appeared to have taken up singing a tune to herself in a surprisingly clear and pretty pitch that even so set Draco's teeth on edge. She followed Potter and Granger towards the Gryffindor table, already half filled with what had to be all of their students, as though she was more of a Gryffindor than a Ravenclaw. Draco wondered if, even after six years, she'd somehow forgotten which house she belonged to. He wouldn't put it past the girl.

Draco took himself to the Slytherin table, folding into the seat beside Blaise who, despite his lack of inclination towards friendship, was sitting alongside Theodore. He barely spared them both a nod of acknowledgement before reaching across the table to the pot of Irish stew and ladling himself a bowlful. They didn't exchange a word until Draco was halfway through his dinner.

"You're thinking awfully hard for so late in the afternoon."

Draco glanced up. "What?"

Blaise was smirking in a way that put Draco in mind of a cat with its sights on a mouse. "You. What's ticking through that big head of yours?"

"I don't have a big head. That would insinuate arrogance."

"So it's a fairly suitable description, then?" Theodore said with his usual blunt tactlessness.

Draco scowled as Blaise laughed. "He's got you there."

"I'm not arrogant."

"Yes, Draco, you are."

"No I'm not. There's a difference between arrogance and pride."

Surprisingly, Blaise's smile faded slightly. "Pride?"

Draco glanced up from his bowl of stew to spare his friend a frown. What was with that unnecessarily deep-thinking tone? "What?"

Blaise only shook his head. "Nothing, I just…"

"What?"

Pursing his lips, Blaise shrugged. "Just that at the end of… last term, what you said to me…" He trailed off, shrugging once more.

Draco's frown deepened. At the end of last term? He and Blaise – and just about everyone else – used such a reference as a euphemism for 'after the battle'. What was Blaise referring to, exactly? What had he said to him? "What are you talking about?"

Blaise shrugged in that frankly irritating way that made Draco want to reach down and clamp a hand upon his rising shoulders. "You just said that you didn't have all that much pride left after everything that had happened. I guess I'm just happy that it isn't true."

Draco stared at his friend. He stared and didn't speak a word as he slowly turned back to his bowl. He didn't have all that much of an appetite after Blaise's words. "Oh," was all he could think to say.

An elbow jostled him slightly, enough that Draco shifted aside his thoughtfulness for a moment to raise an objectionable eyebrow at Blaise. "Look, I'm not saying it's a bad thing."

"Even if it does entail arrogance?" Theodore asked through the pieces of dinner roll he was popping into his mouth.

"Shut up, Theo," Blaise said without even glancing towards him. He cocked his head slightly to smile at Draco in a positively unnerving manner. "Really, it's actually kind of good to see. I wasn't sure if, after the train trip here, you know…"

"I know what?" Draco raised his eyebrow further, sitting up taller in his seat.

Blaise shrugged once more and Draco couldn't help himself; he clamped a hand down upon one raised shoulder with a darting snap of his hand in such a way that Blaise started slightly before smirking. His smirk softened, however, as he replied. "Nothing. Just that I wasn't sure if I'd maybe lost the old Draco. I mean, he's a prat and all, but he is my friend."

Draco blinked at Blaise for a moment, his mouth opening and closing with shameful ineloquence. He dropped his hand from Blaise's shoulder as he turned back to his dinner, lips pressing together firmly for a moment before replying. "I don't know what you mean," he lied. That train trip, that first night back, Draco hadn't been sure what to expect. He hadn't known if it was a good thing to have returned to Hogwarts at all, what with all of the memories, after everything that had happened. But…

No. It had been a good idea. Even if somehow, within twenty-four hours of his return, he'd managed to land himself with Potter as a mutual bond-parent. How that had even happened still baffled Draco.

Shaking his head, Draco deliberately picked up his fork and set about his stew once more. "I've got no idea what you're talking about," he reiterated with a sniff.

He could feel Blaise's smile without needing to look at him. "Oh, I think you do."

"I do not."

"Yes you do."

"Shut up, Theo," Draco replied mildly, gaze still downcast.

Blaise laughed once more. "You do. And I think you probably also even know the reason for it all. For everything being… better."

Draco didn't mean to. He honestly didn't, but somehow, quite without his direction, he found his gaze drifting upwards and across the room towards the Gryffindor table. He noticed the Golden Trio – they were, quite frankly, hard to miss, especially with Weasley and Weaslette initiating their nightly argument, cries of "Stop being an idiot" and "He was with you _last_ night" ringing across the room. And naturally, his eyes drifted to Potter, to Pipsqueak, as they were want to do.

Potter, who was watching his two friends snarl and snap at one another's throats with a hand propped beneath his chin. Potter, who seemed to have neglected half of his dinner in favour of offering it to Pipsqueak at his shoulder who ate _far_ more daintily and cleanly that her siblings, Draco was sure. Potter, who somehow seemed to feel Draco's gaze upon him and glanced in his direction through the mess of his overlong fringe. He didn't smile but he didn't frown either, simply regarding Draco as he was regarded in turn.

Draco hastily dropped his gaze down to his bowl once more, resolutely ignoring Blaise's muffled chuckles at his side. Stupid Potter with his stupid fringe and his stupid stare and the ridiculously, stupidly cute way he smiled at the foxlet that lived on his shoulder. It annoyed Draco to no end.

Although, he would consider later as he lay in bed and stared up at the curtains of his four-poster, at least he was annoyed. At least he felt something other than despair, something more than regret or disappointment for how the world had changed. He'd wondered after the war if he ever would look upon the world the same as he once had through anything but the darkly-tinted glasses of his regret.

Apparently he had. Did. Quite without realising it, Draco did. And damn him but Blaise was right. He might be annoying, and the squirrel just as much, but Potter and Pipsqueak actually had quite a bit to do with that. Even if they were hardly more than a distraction from his thoughts.

Everything was… better. Slightly. Returned to normal just a little bit. It had become constant, routine, and though Draco was swamped beneath homework, was constantly looking over his shoulder with the expectation of meeting the glares of his fellow students, it wasn't anything particularly noteworthy. His N.E. were hardly as difficult an endeavour to undertake the second time round, especially given that this time it lacked the threat of torture by particular professors.

It was good. Better, even. It might have even remained that way, too, except that but days later the first of the foxlets went Berserk.


	6. Chapter 6 - Berserker

**Chapter 6: Berserker**

 _The link between a foxlet glider and their bond-parents in many ways resembles that of a witch or wizard to their Familiar. This phenomenon is largely a result of the empathetic capabilities of the creatures – the bond only enhances their sensitivity to the emotions of their bond-parents, and juveniles will respond with joy, sorrow or aggressive anger accordingly._

 _Throughout the sub-adult stage of the foxlet glider's life, they will be as an additional limb to one or other of their bond-parents at all times. Not only does this soothe the distress of the juvenile but it similarly eases any discomfort or rising unease of the bonded. With greater exposure, the concern of the parent for the juvenile will only increase into both affection and protectiveness. It has been observed on several occasions to become an almost obsessive need to ensure the wellbeing of that juvenile, at times even at the expense of the parent's._

* * *

Harry woke up early, as usual. Sometimes he didn't sleep at all, so the surprise lay more in that he'd slept at all. The curtained enclosure of his bed made it as black as full night, but he suspected that it would still be considerably early and likely as dark had the curtains been drawn open.

Rolling over, Harry reached up to his chest to shift Pipsqueak before she could slide in a tumbling squeak onto the mattress. His chest had apparently become her own mattress and she'd routinely curled like a sleeping cat in just such a position for weeks now. Any opportunity to do so, including when Harry didn't simply forego taking himself to bed and simply spent the night on the common room couches, she seemed to grasp with both paws. Although, he considered, she probably wouldn't be able to sit on _top_ of him for all that much longer. Pipsqueak had grown significantly in the past weeks and was now more akin to the size of a small dog than a cat. She was still smaller than both Tod and Kitsune but that hardly meant she was _tiny_.

Pipsqueak immediately pricked her ears and blinked her wide, dark eyes open as Harry shifted her, her paws wrapping around his arm as though insisting that no, actually, he could not force her to budge. In the darkness, her grey face looked paler, almost white, the black tips of her enormous ears making it appear as though they were cut off in a stunting. Her black nose twitched before jabbing at Harry's face in an affectionate nuzzle.

Harry smiled. Pips always made him smile. He'd never had a pet other than Hedwig, and she was hardly as much of a constant companion. Pipsqueak was _always_ with Harry, letting go of him only long enough to take herself to toilet when he led her outside and then only in the early days; strangely, astoundingly, she seemed to have developed the understanding of a lavatory and proceeded to use it accordingly which, if Harry was to be honest, was actually very convenient. They were never apart, the two of them, with Pipsqueak even going so far as to accompany him into the shower because, in the early days if their bonding, Harry couldn't urge her to untangle her paws and tail for long enough to leave her behind and go by himself. The soft little sobs she'd whimpered when he'd left her in Ron's arms – Ron, who was surprisingly a massive sap when it came to the foxlets and who was just about blubbering himself to witness it – was heartbreaking. Harry caved in an instant. At first Pipsqueak had protested the spitting water, her yips echoing off the tiled walls resoundingly. That was then, though. Now, she revelled in the spray, even growing excited when Harry rifled through his trunk for his robes and picked up his towel. She'd long since grown to recognise the items and what they meant.

Harry knew she was excited. He could tell now. He recognised when she was happy, when she was sleepy, when she was playful. He knew the yip that specifically meant she was hungry, or the pitch of the whimper that told him she wanted to be just a little closer to Malfoy – he, as objectionable as always, still refused to even touch her and Harry couldn't bring himself to fight with him over the matter. Besides, he didn't care all that much. So long as Pipsqueak was content so was he. She didn't seem to altogether need his contact, just his proximity.

Besides, Harry would have to admit he coveted her attention just a little bit. It would be strange to have Pipsqueak away from him, he'd realised of a morning barely a week after she'd all but glued herself to him. That was the morning that Harry had realised that he was very definitely smitten. It was a little pathetic perhaps, how he almost seemed to _need_ her around him, how he could read her so well it was as if she was more than just a pet but an actual friend.

Which she was. Pipsqueak wasn't just a pet, Harry decided. Not at all. She was so, so much more than that. And Harry needed her. He didn't know why, exactly, only that he knew he felt… calmer when she was around. That he slept just a little better.

Propping his arm behind his head, Harry dropped the fingers of his other hand to Pipsqueak's head, scratching between the two lines on her head just above where her third eye should be. It was her favourite spot to be scratched and her eyes narrowed to contented slits, ears drooping and a purr bubbling from her throat. She snuggled closer to his chest once more.

"How did you sleep, Pips? You were out like a light last night." Harry slipped his fingers down behind one of her ears so that she cocked her head and loudened her purr contentedly. Her eyes actually closed, and Harry could swear that she smiled. "Fell asleep in my lap by nine o'clock, you did. Needed an early one, did you?"

Pipsqueak hummed in a reply that sounded like an agreement. Harry smiled. She was only a baby after all, regardless of the fact that both Luna and Hermione claimed she could 'mentally mature' at any moment. Harry almost feared the day that would happen. Not only could it mean Pips might become a Berserker; Luna may claim that it wasn't 'that bad' but he couldn't imagine Pipsqueak becoming, as Malfoy called it, a rabid squirrel. It made him feel sick to even contemplate, both because it was so vastly opposite to how Pipsqueak was – she was about the least aggressive creature Harry had ever encountered – but because it would mean that she would have to be taken back down to Hagrid's and kept out of the school. A potentially dangerous creature, no matter how small, could hardly accompany their 'bond-parents' to their classes.

More than that, however, Harry dreaded the very thought of that maturity itself. Even if Pipsqueak grew into a Sedate – which she would. She had to – would Harry have to take her back down to Hagrid's? Would she be sent down to the cottage and he only able to visit her between classes? Surely not. Surely. Foxlet gliders apparently took about two years to reach their full size, something that ranged between the sizes of a German Shepherd and a wolfhound. They wouldn't be quite as sturdy, no, but would reach that size all the same. Even if Pipsqueak grew to nearly so large in Harry's final school year, he would still be able to have her with him, wouldn't he? The size of a dog wasn't _that_ big, even if it was a Big Dog.

It often got Harry to thinking, though, and not only with the melancholy of potential disaster. For it would be a disaster if Pips was taken away from him, her knew. It got him to thinking about that which he strove not to. Sighing, Harry paused in his petting for a moment to rub his fingers over his own forehead. Pipsqueak's eyes blinked open, peering up at him with the grin vanished from her face. Harry would swear that, even without her third eye opened, she could somehow read his thoughts. Or maybe it was his feelings. There would surely be no other reason for such a solemn expression upon the foxlet's face.

Forcing forth a smile, Harry dropped his fingers back down to Pipsqueak's head, grazing his fingers through her downy fur. She didn't look deceived by his attempt in the slightest. "It's alright," he reassured her. "I'm just thinking."

Pips' ears pricked at his words and she cocked her head slightly as if in question. Harry's smile came easier this time. Though he might be talking to an animal that likely didn't understand a word he said, but it was soothing nonetheless. He didn't really feel he could talk to Ron or Hermione about things like his concerns, his worries for the future. It was something private, and besides, they didn't need to hear that from him. They were both firmly set with stepping towards their own futures. Together. Harry's own listlessness would only be a downer. "I'm just thinking," he murmured again.

Pipsqueak's small " _yip_ " sounded like nothing if not encouragement to continue. He smiled at her once more, leaning forwards slightly so that her reaching snout could brush gently upon his chin. "I don't know. Just stuff. I don't really want to be an Auror and all that anymore, and I don't know what else to do with myself. What does an ex-Chosen One even do?"

Pipsqueak gave another yip, butting her nose against his chin once more. There was another question in her mew that Harry interpreted as it likely wasn't even intended. "Yeah, maybe. But I don't exactly enjoy having cameras flashing at me or anything. I never have. People don't seem to realise that." He set to stroking at Pipsqueak's head once more. "Honestly, I'd rather just kind of spend my time looking after you."

The humming purr that Pipsqueak mumbled was _definitely_ in response to his words, only enhancing Harry's suspicion that she took more from his words than would even something as intelligent as a kneazle. She seemed to be saying " _That's perfectly fine. Why don't you just do that, then?_ " Harry could only agree with the sentiment.

They spent another hour or so simply lying in bed before Harry bothered to reach for his wand and check the time. Six fifteen, his _Tempus_ Charm read, which was probably a little early to be up and about but Harry found lying abed for too long both boring and largely pointless, even if he did spend that time with Pipsqueak. He'd never really been given the liberty of doing so when he was younger and the habit had stuck. Even when failing to fall to sleep, he rarely bothered spending more than an hour doing so before giving up the attempt as a lost cause.

Scooping Pipsqueak up into his arms, Harry kicked aside the curtains of his bed and clambered from the mattress. He had always thought the school mattresses were ridiculously soft. The eighth year dorm beds seemed even softer somehow. So soft as to be almost _un_ comfortable. Pipsqueak quickly and efficiently scaled his arms to drape herself over his shoulder, setting up a string of chittering " _yip-yip_ "s as he made his way to his trunk, fumbled around in the dark for his towel and robes for the day, and made his way to the bathroom. She was bouncing excitedly enough to stagger him by the time they stepped through the door.

Twenty minutes later and, with a thoroughly drenched foxlet in hand, Harry returned to the dorm. It was still quiet, despite the fact that one or two beds appeared to hold waking occupants, and still dark enough that Harry nearly tripped over the end of his trunk. One would think that, after nearly two months back at school, he would manage to avoid stubbing is toe every morning that the trunk stuck out just a little too far, but no, apparently not. Pausing only to grab his school bag, sparing a glance for Ron's bed – still very much still and silent – Harry made his way down to the common room. He'd rather wait for Ron downstairs anyway than in the dark confines of their room.

It wasn't the Gryffindor common room, but Harry found he quite liked the eighth year tower all the same. It was cast in cooler shades, and though it was smaller there was a very definite openness about it due to the significantly smaller number of residents allocated within its walls. Harry found he quite liked that, too. The students of Hogwarts, for whatever reason, seemed to attend to him more than they used to. He felt watched, almost scrutinised, and it was an unnerving experience that he had never become accustomed to regardless of how many years he had lived in the Wizarding world as the Chosen One. His fellow eighth years were different, though. Other than the initial curious consideration, the stares of speculation and even a little respect, they'd seemed to have subsided back to normal. The time Harry had seen such respect radiating from _Malfoy_ had been shocking, though thankfully that respect seemed to have died somewhat into nonchalance and even a hint of his usual aversion.

Harry liked that. It was the same as it always had been. He might not get along with Malfoy, regardless of how Malfoy had finally graced him with the allowance that "Alright, I'll allow you to sit next to me. For the squirrel only, mind", but he found he quite liked that. It was the same as it had always been, if to a lesser degree, and Harry found it was… comfortable.

Seating himself down on the floor before the faintly violet fire, Harry tugged at Pipsqueaks still sodden tail until she obliged, uncoiling herself and pooling in his lap. Smiling down at her – she looked to have grown a Mohawk for the spiky wetness of her fur – he rolled her onto the carpet before the fire. "How you manage to retain so much water even after I've dried you with a towel I'll never know. You're like a sponge." Pipsqueak only yipped her agreement, wriggling with wagging tails as Harry fluffed up her fur with his fingers in an attempt to better dry her before the warmth of the fire. "Though at least you won't stink. You know Hermione still can't get Kitsune to take a bath? Lavender nearly did, but Kitsune just starts barking and scratching whenever she goes near the shower. Or any water source for that matter. Don't tell Hermione but I think Kitsune might like Lavender just a little bit more than her."

Pips stared up at him with momentary stillness, almost solemnity, and, with such a human gesture that she _had_ to have understood Harry's words, tipped her head in a nod. Harry grinned widely. "I knew you could keep a secret. Mouth like a steel trap, you have, right?"

Pips yipped her agreement and wriggled on the floor once more.

Harry wasn't sure how long he spent beside the glow of the fire before the next person came down the stairs. He'd since descended from simply drying Pipsqueak into playing with her with the quill he'd had pulled from his bag. It was a game he'd adopted from Ron and Tod and, though Pipsqueak wasn't nearly as excitable as Tod was during the game – Sprout had actually had to stop Ron from disrupting the class the previous week because Tod had knocked over a pot of freshly turned fertilizer in his excitement – but she liked it all the same. Harry suspected it was as much because she thought that _he_ liked the game as because she did.

"Don't eat it, you silly little idiot," Harry laughed as he tugged the matted quill from Pipsqueak's jaws. She grinned up at him, ears flapping and twitching like a pair of wings as her paws stretched up towards the quill elevated above her nose. The thinly-furred patagium between her wrists and ankles was stretched taut. "I know you liked chicken but this quill is _raven_ feather. You wouldn't like it."

Pips barked in disagreement and Harry laughed once more. "How about I get you some chicken for breakfast then, hm?" He asked and Pips wagged her tails in her disjointed way in fervent anticipation. "Although, I don't know if there'll even be chicken at breakfast. How about bacon? Or sausages? You like sausage."

"You know, she can't actually understand you."

At the sound of Malfoy's voice, Harry lowered the quill and glanced over his shoulder. Malfoy leant against the back of one of the desk chairs, bag slung over his shoulder and legs crossed before him as he watched Harry and Pips with hooded eyes. Pipsqueak, in a display that told Harry his speculations as to her investment in their game were accurate, pricked her ears and scaled Harry's chest to peer over his shoulder. Her ears quivered and she gave a delighted " _yip!_ " of welcome. Malfoy spared her only a glance, if a long one, before turning his attention back towards Harry.

Harry shrugged, slipping his mangled quill back into his bag and rising to his feet. He adjusted Pipsqueak so she slipped around his shoulders and about his neck as usual. It was a bit of a struggle these days; she was definitely getting a little too big for such a pose. "I think she does."

"She doesn't. She's an animal."

"A very smart animal."

"It doesn't matter how smart she is, she's still an animal. She can't understand English."

Harry shrugged once more, and didn't miss the slight twitch of Malfoy's nose as he did so. He didn't know what that was all about but chose to disregard it. "Obviously you haven't spent enough time with her then to notice. She does."

Malfoy narrowed his eyes slightly before, with what was evidently a determined attempt at disregard himself, he jerked his head to the side and glanced back up the stairs towards the boys dormitory. Harry settled for leaning against the back of one of the couches and raising a hand to scratch at Pipsqueak's chirruping head as he watched Malfoy with a sidelong glance.

He cut a clean, sharp figure in a way that Harry knew he could never achieve. It was something that he'd always noticed but never really appreciated all that much before, given that such observations were usually tagged with a mental "stupid git" or "bloody Slytherin". It sort of detracted from any potential for compliment. But Malfoy was indeed well groomed. Not a hair on his white-blond head was out of place, nor a wrinkle visible in his robes. He carried himself tall and straight in a way that had always made Harry consider him so much taller than himself but recent study had proved to be hardly an exceptional discrepancy. He wasn't a large person, not really any bigger than Harry himself, but the hold of his carriage gave him a greater presence than that he possessed.

Or maybe that was just his arrogance, Harry wasn't sure.

"What are you doing down here so early, Malfoy?" He asked before he'd even realised he was going to speak.

Malfoy drew his gaze slowly back towards him, a single eyebrow rising. "It's not that early."

"How early is it?"

"You said what you did without even knowing what the time was?"

Harry shrugged. "It was just a question," he muttered, turning very deliberately away from Malfoy to give his full attention to Pipsqueak. He didn't know why he'd chosen to speak to Malfoy at all, actually. He might not hate the other boy quite so much anymore but that didn't make him any more of an agreeable person. He was actually quite the opposite for the most part. Harry didn't think he would spare a second thought for him if not for Pips and the bond-parent thing. He didn't even answer questions properly –

"It's nearly seven-thirty. And I'm waiting for Blaise to haul arse out of bed."

Blinking, Harry turned his attention back to Malfoy. Had he… actually answered him properly? _Actually_ answered him? They'd spent a lot of time together over the past weeks and if Harry knew one thing it was that Malfoy didn't want to talk to him. He would accept that Harry was _near_ him out of necessity, but he clearly didn't feel any particular need to talk to him. Their only interactions had been when they spoke – briefly and rarely – of Pipsqueak, or when they were exchanging information on foxlet gliders in their early days of research on the magical creatures. Harry was still a little surprised that Malfoy had actually agreed to help with that. He wouldn't have been surprised in the slightest if he'd abandoned them to their work.

"Do you usually get down here so early?" He asked before he could stop himself.

Malfoy frowned with something approaching indignation. "Why? Do you?"

"Yeah. Pretty much every morning." Surely Harry would have noticed before if Malfoy arrived so early. Wouldn't he?

Malfoy's frown gradually faded into something less objectionable and he shook his head. "No. Not usually. I… appreciate my late mornings when I can get them." He paused and Harry could swear he was on the edge of embarrassment for such an admission. Then he shook his head and frowned towards Harry once more. "You don't."

Harry shrugged – and blinked at the repeated twitch to Malfoy's nose. Really, what was that all about? "Not really. Never have."

"That's remarkably committed for a Gryffindor."

"Ex-Gryffindor," Harry corrected. "And what do you mean by that?"

"Only that it entails hard-work and a readiness for the day. I would associate early rising with Hufflepuffs more than Gryffindors."

Harry pursed his lips to the side thoughtfully, tapping at Pipsqueak's head. "Not all Gryffindors," he murmured. Then he shook his head. "Whatever. Maybe I've got a bit of Hufflepuff in me?"

Malfoy arched his eyebrow once more. "You? A Puff?"

"Is there a problem with that?"

"Hufflepuffs are pathetically coddled little sheep who –"

"Who just so happen to carry the characteristics of people who are hard-working, loyal, just and kind. I don't really see any of that as being a bad thing," Harry reasoned. "And as far as I've heard, they're hardly coddled. You know they have to crawl through a tunnel to even get to their common room?"

Malfoy blinked at Harry for a moment in what he could have sworn was surprise. "Please tell me you're joking."

"What, you've never heard of that before?"

"Merlin, _no_."

"Have you ever actually asked a Hufflepuff –"

"I don't mingle with the Puffs," Malfoy sniffed, tipping his head back so his nose pointed into the air.

Harry rolled his eyes. "And therein lies your problem," he muttered beneath his breath.

"What was that?"

"I said I could have expected that."

Malfoy narrowed his eyes. "Is that so."

Harry deliberately turned away from Malfoy. "Why are you acting so indignant? I'm just agreeing with what you said yourself."

For a moment, Malfoy was rendered silent. Actually silent, as though Harry's words had stunted any potential reply. Harry struggled to smother the urge to grin. He had never before engaged in wordplay with Malfoy before, hadn't expected himself adept enough, for pretentious git though he was, Harry knew that Malfoy was more educated, more cultured even, then himself. It hadn't been a compliment, a recognition of superiority in his mind when he'd first thought it, but Harry had registered it nonetheless. The fact that Harry had beaten Malfoy – or at least sort of beaten him – at his own game was…

It was kind of fantastic. Did that make him a little twisted, that Harry actually quite enjoyed arguing with Malfoy? Yes… yes, surely it did.

What was wrong with him?

"What are you doing down here so early, then?"

Malfoy's words broke into Harry's musings and he blinked his attention back towards him. "Hm?"

Malfoy sighed with more long-suffering than the situation merited. "Why. Are you here. So early?"

Harry pursed his lips once more, frowning. "I'm waiting. For Ron," he replied, mimicking Malfoy's slowness.

"Weasley wasn't even awake when I came down five minutes ago."

"Oh, fantastic," Harry sighed. "I suppose I should kick him out of bed then."

"Why?"

"So he's not late for class. That's what friends do for each other, Malfoy."

Malfoy scowled but surprisingly brushed aside the backhanded criticism. "I just meant why do you have to wait for him? Why not just go down to breakfast? I've no doubt Granger would wait – they're practically joined at the hip most of the time."

Harry couldn't deny that. His friends weren't openly lovey-dovey – for which he was sincerely grateful as he didn't know how well he'd be able to stand it – but there was a very distinct sense of closeness. Of fondness for one another that they didn't necessarily have for Harry, or at least not in the same way. It felt just a little lonely to realise.

Harry's hand drifted towards Pipsqueak's head, scratching idly. "Yeah, you're probably right. Honestly, I can't much be bothered to wait for him anyway. It's always me waiting, you know? There's only so much I can take of that." He didn't speak it with any particular heat but his words were sincere nonetheless. He didn't begrudge Ron taking so long every morning – he had to wait for so long because _Harry_ was the one who got up so early – but that didn't mean he particularly enjoyed the wait.

Pushing himself off the back of the couch, Harry hitched his bag higher onto his shoulder and turned towards the tower entrance. "Might just head on down then," he muttered, passing Malfoy. Onto to pause in step at the door. "Why are you waiting, then? I can't see you as one to wait upon the whims of your friends."

Malfoy shifted his lean into something that could have been awkwardness. Gaze averted, he plucked at the lapels of his robes, smoothing them with a distracted hand. "No reason."

"Why don't you just come down with us, then?"

Malfoy glanced up at Harry sharply, frowning as though he expected him to be teasing. Harry wasn't. It was a sincere offer, and made even more so by Pipsqueak's excited " _eeeee-yip_!" of hearty agreement to the suggestion. "Us?"

"Pips and me."

"You want me to walk down to breakfast with you?" Malfoy sounded genuinely incredulous, which Harry tried not to find as hilarious as it was.

Instead, he shrugged, turning to cross the room and tugging the common room door open. "You don't have to. I think Pips would probably like you to, though, which might actually be helpful considering I can't come with you to Arithmancy this morning."

"Why not?" Malfoy asked, more curious that affronted despite his words. Harry didn't miss that, as he stepped out through the door into the corridor, Malfoy followed behind him without a word. Probably deliberately without a word, considering it was him. He was likely too embarrassed to admit he would agree with any suggestion Harry posed.

"It's my week to head on down to sixth year Care of Magical Creatures," he explained.

"Again? Already?"

"I've only gone twice before, Malfoy. I'm – _we're_ looking after the foxlet gliders for Hagrid's class." Harry glanced over his shoulder at Malfoy who was, surprisingly, frowning. It was almost as though the situation vexed him, which was strange. Harry would have thought he'd appreciate the reprieve from his and Pipsqueak's near constant accompaniment. They rarely spoke to one another, certainly not as much as they were doing that morning, but it must get annoying. Harry at least had the diversion of Pipsqueak's presence to distract from any objections he may feel to the situation.

Malfoy didn't reply to his words but fell into set alongside Harry, as though to walk behind him was a slight to his pride. Which, Harry considered, given that it was Malfoy, it likely was.

The Great Hall was almost empty when they entered. Besides a scattering of upper-year students, getting a bite in before diving into class and studies, there was only, expectedly, McGonagall and Sprout in attendance. They two were the early risers of the professors of Hogwarts, Harry had noticed. He'd seen the tail end of their breakfasts more times than he'd counted.

They paused, he and Malfoy, just inside the door, both turning in opposite directions towards their respective tables. Or old tables, Harry reasoned. He didn't _have_ to sit with the Gryffindors anymore, even if it was expected of him. The neutrality of the eighth years was as pronounced as the black and white striping of their ties, of the mascot-less insignia's on their robes. Apparently the school was were ordering some 'eighth year' scarves for this rapidly encroaching winter season.

Even so, despite their apparent houseless-ness, Malfoy always sat with the Slytherins and Harry with the Gryffindors. It was a bit of a pain, actually, for on more than one occasion he'd endured a meal with Pipsqueak whimpering softly in his ear because of the distance of the hall between them and the Slytherins. Still, he didn't comment when Malfoy turned towards his own table, hesitating for only a moment for some reason and casting a brief, frowning glance behind him through the doors of the Great Hall before striding away without a word.

Pipsqueak whimpered in what was more of a wistful sight.

Sighing himself, Harry raised a hand to pet at her head. "Sorry, Pips, but he wants to go and sit by himself like a loner. It'sot my fault."

Pipsqueak gave a disconsolate " _yip_ ".

"Yeah, I know, he's an idiot. He couldn't just make things easy and sit with us, could he? And after what I just told him about having to miss Arithmancy and everything." Shaking his head, Harry turned towards the Gryffindor table. Only to pause in step as a thought occurred to him. Ron would likely blow a fuse but… maybe he could just for a little while.

Turning on his heel, Harry banked and headed instead towards the Slytherin table. Without a word, ignoring the surprised stares of the seventh year girl as she pause in her breakfast with mouth falling ajar to watch him pass, he headed towards where Malfoy had seated himself. He didn't speak when he dropped into the seat beside him to the music of Pipsqueak's contented purring and resolutely ignored Malfoy's startled glance when he turned towards him, buttered knife in hand and slice of toast apparently completely forgotten. "Don't say anything, Malfoy," Harry warned without glancing his way. "Pips is the one who asked for it."

"Pips…" Malfoy muttered faintly. Then he shook his head, seemingly more to shake himself from him momentary stupor than in dissent. Harry saw him frown at him from his periphery. "She's a flying squirrel, Potter –"

"A foxlet glider, actually."

"- and she can't speak."

"Obviously you haven't spent enough time with her to realise that yes, actually, she does."

Malfoy shook his head more slowly this time. He was still staring, still otherwise immobilised. "You're insane."

Harry paused in the act of reaching for the toast rack, considered, and shrugged. "Yeah, probably a little bit."

"You're not even going to object to that?" Malfoy asked, apparently growing only more incredulous.

"Nope. I think it's probably true for most of us."

"Not me," Malfoy muttered.

Harry spared him a glance, allowing himself a small smirk as he dropped two pieces of toast to his plate. "Well, aren't you special?"

"Of course I am," he sniffed in reply, deliberately turning back to buttering his toast. How someone could make such an act appear so graceful Harry didn't know, and he almost _had_ to stare for a moment. He'd never sat beside Malfoy at a meal before – of course he hadn't; there were knives at the dinner table and though mostly blunted he wouldn't put it past Malfoy to resort to using one as a weapon just because he could – so he'd never witnessed it before. He made it seem as though he were sitting at high tea and daintily buttering scones.

Shaking his head, Harry turned back to his own breakfast and was quickly distracted when a waft of Pipsqueak's tails flicked him in the face and reminded him of his earlier promise. Reaching across the table, he speared the smallest sausage he could see and offered it upon his fork to the foxlet on his shoulder, leaning dangerously far towards the buffet spread. Her little paw stretched towards the morsel like the grasping fingers of a child.

"Use both hands, please," Harry murmured, waiting until she sat back on her haunches and obliged. "Thank you. And please don't drop it down my shoulder again. I'm not so good with Cleaning Charms."

Pips yipped in acknowledgement and, with a grasp as dainty as Draco buttering his toast, tugged the sausage into her grasp, nibbling at it with little hums of delight. She looked like she'd fallen into heaven, even more so for Malfoy's proximity than she usually did.

It took Harry a good five minutes and a whole slice of toast before he realised Malfoy was staring. He glanced at him sidelong, pausing in the act of chewing. "What?"

Malfoy dragged his attention from Pipsqueak to Harry. He opened his mouth to speak, closed it briefly, then opened it once more. "She eats at the breakfast table."

"She does," Harry agreed.

"Why?"

"Well, where else is she supposed to eat?"

"On the floor maybe? Where every other animal would eat?"

Harry frowned, a flicker of annoyance rising within him. Noticing such annoyance effectively vanquished it to be replaced by surprise – he was annoyed? That was a first in a long time – and Harry shook his head to rid it of the thought. He knew that dogs, cats, kneazle and crups or whatever did indeed receive their food on the ground. He'd seen Aunt Marge with her dogs often enough to know that. Pips was just different.

"Pips is different," he said, verbalising his thoughts. "Besides, she doesn't make a mess. I've talked to her about this."

"You've talked… to _her_ about this?" Malfoy echoed dubiously. His eyebrow arched and Harry knew what he was going to say before he spoke. "You really are insane."

"Maybe a little bit."

"Although… I must admit she certainly is one of the cleanest eaters I've ever seen. For a creature, of course." Malfoy continued to regard Pipsqueak as she finished her sausage, actually going so far as to lick her fingers in a very human-like manner, before shaking his head and turning his attention back to his own breakfast.

Harry stared at him. Did Malfoy just… did he just freely offer a compliment? To Pips? Regardless of the fact that it was true – the foxlet was a cleaner eater than a good portion of the first years, actually – but Malfoy? Complimenting? Was the sun about to implode?

Harry had only just shaken himself from his astonishment to fall back to his own breakfast when Zabini arrived. Zabini who, with the easy swagger of one entirely confident and comfortable with himself, paused mid-step when he drew up just before Harry and Malfoy. He blinked, glancing between the two of them with a grin rapidly spreading across his face. "Well, well, what do we have hear?"

"Quiet, Blaise," Malfoy drawled.

"No, really, do please tell me."

"Sit down and eat your breakfast."

"Potter?" Zabini asked, turning towards Harry instead as he slung a leg over the bench to drop into his seat. "To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?"

Harry raised an eyebrow at Zabini, considering his inclination towards answering his leering classmate, but before he could act upon it an eruption at the doors to the Great Hall drew his attention. An eruption in the form of two redheads as first Ginny carrying Tod then Ron stormed into the room. Hermione and Lavender, Hermione with Kitsune snuggled against her shoulder, trailed after with visible winces.

" – don't care, I'm taking him to Muggle Studies," Ginny bellowed over her shoulder, striding towards the Gryffindor table. "It's my turn!"

"You just had him for the entire night. That's not fair, it's my –"

"You promised me after you took him to Herbology on Tuesday that _I_ could have him today! You don't even need him to take down to Hagrid's. It's Harry's turn to –"

"We were going to go together, you pain in the arse. Tod and Pips like spending time together."

Harry watched the back and forth shouting that echoed through the Hall as if it were a tennis match. As always, his hand drifted to Pipsqueak when she shrunk slightly into his shoulder. She didn't particularly like it when people yelled. Neither did either of the other two foxlets for that matter, Harry had noticed. He knew that Ron and Ginny knew it too but they didn't seem able to help themselves. Their familial animosity just sort of spilled out.

Harry knew why. He knew exactly why, and it wasn't just because they possessed equally volatile personalities. It wasn't simply because they were siblings, or that they were equally possessive of Tod – though both factors were significant contributors. Surprisingly, both Ron and Ginny had taken to Tod like a bitch to her puppies. Much as Hermione and Lavender had to Kitsune, and, Harry had noticed, just as he had to Pipsqueak. The problem was that the tie between Ron and Ginny was tenuous at best since the war. They were strained, as all of the Weasleys had horribly become after Fred's death. Far from bringing them closer together as Harry might have anticipated, it somehow made them more awkward with one another. It was horrifying to witness; the Weasleys, the family that Harry had seen as being _the_ family, were distancing themselves from one another.

It was but one more casualty of the war.

Ron and Ginny exemplified that distancing on a more profound and aggressive level. They were still close – they were siblings, after all – which was probably what Tod had picked up on when he'd chosen them to be his bond-parents to start off with, but that closeness descended into anger more often than not. It was elicited by the smallest of things, too, like who would get to take Tod to the lessons they had apart that day. Harry knew that both Ron and Ginny knew it upset the foxlets, but they didn't seem able to help themselves.

"Why should _you_ be the one to always get your way?" Ron yelled at Ginny, stopped a foot where he stood with hands clenched at his sides.

Ginny turned from where she'd stopped beside the seventh year Gryffindors, all of whom were watching the fight with wide-eyed attentiveness. " _I_ always get my way? _Me?_ "

"Yes, you. Who was the one that demanded they take him last night?"

"That's because it was _my turn!_ "

"After you'd had him with you all day yesterday?"

"We shared all of our classes together yesterday, Ron, you wanker."

"Yeah, and he was sitting with you the whole time."

"Merlin, they sound like children fighting over a toy," Zabini muttered. He, alongside everyone else in Hall, was turned towards the performance as if it were a theatre act.

"Pathetic," Malfoy muttered, shaking his head with his lip curling just slightly. For once Harry felt he actually agreed a little with the sentiment, if only because Pipsqueak was cringing only further into his shoulder. From what he could make out Tod and Kitsune were little better.

"Mr Weasley, Miss Weasley, stop this at once!" From the head table, McGonagall rose to her feet and planted her hands upon the table before her. She affixed the siblings with a hard stare, eyebrows lowered behind her square spectacles. "Such behaviour is highly unbecoming of seventh and eighth year students."

As one, Ron and Ginny both turned towards McGonagall. "Professor, he's being such a bastard –"

"Ginny's being an idiot who won't just –"

"I said _enough_ ," McGonagall thundered once more.

Hermione hastened to Ron's side, and though she little more than whispered her words could be heard throughout the hall. "Ron, really, can't you just leave it? Just this once? It's not going to kill you. Let Ginny just –"

"What, let her just take him again? That's not _fair,_ Hermione. How would you like it if Kitsune was with Lavender all the time."

Hermione actually looked faintly guilty at his words, dropping her gaze from Ron's and shifting her hold upon the foxlet curled with head ducked into her shoulder. Zabini gave a sympathetic hum from across the table. "Strike one for Weasley. What the hell is it with these little fox things?"

"Absolutely pathetic," Malfoy reiterated.

Harry didn't agree with him this time, not even mentally. Not because it wasn't just a little warranted but because, as Ginny started up with another shout of "For Merlin's sake, Ron, fair? You want to talk about _fair_?" his eyes drew towards Tod. Sudden concern drew him to his feet.

The foxlet was pressed against Ginny's chest, curled as tightly as Kitsune was to Hermione's, but while Kitsune appeared to be cowering in stillness, Tod was visibly trembling. Not in fear but in something like spasms, tail flicking sharply and shoulders quivering like a child running high on too much sugar. His black fur was standing on end, like hackles raised on a wolf, and he seemed at odds as to whether he wanted to push himself from Ginny's chest or sink into the sort-of comfort she provided with her simple presence.

 _Oh no. This can't be good_.

Harry was on his feet and starting at a quickstep that rapidly became a run around the Slytherin table. His hand rose to hold Pipsqueak in place as he hastened across the room. "Ron, Ginny, I think you should –"

"You're always, _always_ like this. Why don't you grow up a little, Ron?"

"That's rich, coming from the angel daughter herself. Spoilt little brat that you are –"

"Mr and Miss Weasley, stop this at once –"

"Ron, Ginny, please, can you just –"

"- try and see it from _my_ perspective –"

"- always been a bloody cow since the moment you were born –"

Instantly it snapped into a shouting match once more. Bellows rang across the room, rebounding from the walls, from Ron, Ginny, McGonagall, Hermione, and even Sprout when she rose to her own feet with an uncharacteristically thunderous expression upon her face. Harry unconsciously drew his wand from his pocket as he ran to their side, the foreboding sensation that he would have to use it rising within him.

He made it only to Ron's side before Tod snapped.

The wailing howl of " _WAAA-OOO"_ that erupted from the foxlet silenced everyone in an instant. It cascaded and crashed around the room, striking eardrums painfully in its mixture of anger and grief. Harry didn't know how he knew it to be those two emotions he heard but it was very definitely that. Ginny visibly flinched, turning horrified eyes down towards Tod's suddenly tucked head. Ron was of a similar expression and everyone else in the hall, students and teachers alike, were still, wide-eyed and staring.

Then Tod launched himself free.

He tumbled onto the Gryffindor table with a scattering clatter of cups and plates, of spraying juice and flung food. With a snarl that Harry had never thought capable of coming arising from one of the foxlets, his teeth bared and head bowed like a wolf falling into aggression. Somehow, suddenly, he seemed larger. More fearsome. It shouldn't have been possible but he actually _looked_ bigger than he had been. Even larger than Pipsqueak as he was, Harry knew he shouldn't have been _that_ big. But whether it was a combination of his fur standing on end, shoulder's hunched and mouth snarling with tail whipping back and forth or whether he actually was larger he didn't know.

Tod snarled at the immobilised students around him, teeth bared and glistening. In the centre of his forehead his third eye, opened and pale blue as it hadn't been since he'd bonded with Ginny, glared.

After that, everything happened so fast that Harry almost didn't see which order it occurred in.

A fifth year student shifted slightly to Tod's left and he turned and snapped at the air beside her.

In an instant, McGonagall was on the rampage. A silent spell of bright red launched towards Tod, striking him, only for him to spin with a snap of teeth and growling snarl towards his attacker unharmed. In an instant he was charging like a rampaging bull down the table towards her, platters and cutlery flying in his wake.

Sprout shot another curse – Harry thought it might have been a petrification spell – but it too seemed to do nothing. The immobilisation of everyone in the room seemed to have dissipated and students abruptly started screaming and throwing themselves to their feet, the Gryffindors away from their table.

Harry saw Ginny's face, eyes blown wide, watery and horrified.

He caught a glimpse of Ron's almost identical to his sisters.

He acted without thinking.

 _"Incarcerous!_ " He cried, wand pointed towards Tod. Ropes sprung into existence and shot towards him.

In hindsight, Harry suspected it to be more luck than ingenuity that had him casting such a spell. McGonagall and Sprouts' had rebounded off the crazed foxlet; as a magical creature, direct spells themselves had little effect upon him. That was something Harry hadn't even considered before then.

Others called him a quick thinker. A supposed 'Saviour' once more. Harry didn't see himself as such. He couldn't draw his eyes away from Tod, swollen large and aggressive and racing towards the head table as he was abruptly flung from his feet, bound in thick vines of rope to tumble crashing through the dishes and cups before him for a full half-dozen extra steps. Then he stopped.

The room abruptly froze once more. The screams ceased. All that could be heard was the snarling and snapping of Tod as he writhed in his ties. Harry, his wand still raised, felt sickened to hear it. His hand clasped tightly, almost desperately, upon Pipsqueak who had huddled chokingly tightly around his throat. It was a horrible sight.

McGonagall looked frazzled, her wand still raised. Sprout was actually breathing heavily, and she looked ready to launch another spell at the Berserk foxlet. For that's what he had become, Harry realised. One of the foxlets had fi/nally gone Berserk.

Turning slowly, Harry glanced at Ron, then towards Ginny. Their faces were mirroring masks of absolute horror, anguished, and Harry couldn't blame them. It lasted all of a few seconds before Ginny abruptly dissolved into sobs. Ron didn't look far behind her.

Harry couldn't blame them for that either. He only held onto Pipsqueak all the tighter.


	7. Chapter 7 - Golden Leash

**Chapter 7: Golden Leash**

 _The Berserker state can afflict both male and female foxlet gliders. Though it is not necessarily a negative or detrimental state – the evolutionary advantages of such an adaptation have been demonstrated through the consistent number of fossil records of the species spanning thousands of years – it does impinge upon the livelihood of tamed individuals. Given that most foxlet gliders that mature into Berserkers do so before they have reached physical maturity, their need for proximity to their bond-parents, though slightly lessened, is still pronounced._

 _This poses significant difficulty for the bond-parents of the Berserkers; while they will not attack those they are bonded to, young Berserkers often demonstrate exceptional aggression towards other both of their own species and others. As such, confinement with frequent attendance of the bond-parents is the most practical approach to a tamed or 'pet' foxlet glider matured into a Berserker state. Welfare organisations such as_ Caring for the Crazed Creatures _and_ Berserkers United _offer classes and support for bond-parents in such situations._

* * *

Draco couldn't look away from his eyes. It was eerie, disconcerting, and much and all as he wanted to, he couldn't. He hadn't seen his godfather in months – their first encounter with Severus as a portrait was an unwelcome and disconcerting experience.

Yet stare he did. It was easier that looking at his fellow students who stood alongside him in the headmistress's office, their heads slightly bowed and expressions solemn. It was easier than looking at Pipsqueak or the white foxlet where they clung and whimpered just loud enough to be heard upon Potter and Brown's shoulders respectively. It was easier than looking at McGonagall's face, at the weariness of her expression as though she indeed carried the weight of the world upon her shoulders.

Draco didn't like at all.

They'd hastened to the headmistress's office but moments after the black foxlet – the _Berserker_ foxlet – had been contained. Contained and carried from the room down towards the gamekeeper's hut by a pair of blubbering Weasleys. There had been a pause when they'd left, stagnation in the room in which every person hardly seemed to breathe.

Draco stared at Potter. Potter, who even while hugging Pipsqueak curled tightly to his chest now held his wand loosely but with a readiness that suggested he was more than prepared to use it in a moment's notice. Potter, who had been the one who had bound the foxlet, springing into action and responding appropriately in a way that even McGonagall and Sprout hadn't. It was obvious in hindsight that foxlet gliders would be immune to magical attacks – most magical creatures were unless the spell fired upon them was indirect or specifically tailored – but only Potter had responded accurately enough fast enough. He had either thought with incredible speed or had a ridiculous amount of luck up his sleeve.

Whichever it was, Draco couldn't help but stare. He couldn't help but feel faintly awed, just as he found himself whenever Potter acted with that cold, efficient instinctiveness that he'd used in battle the year before and even in their Defence classes. It was… just a little breathtaking to behold, as much because Draco had never been one to be able to react so accurately as that in his life. He didn't even feel envious of Potter's abilities but was simply… awed. Like every other student at the school was, apparently, from their similar silent attentiveness. Even when he'd been aggressive rivals with Potter, Draco could never help but stare just a little.

His stupefaction lasted until McGonagall spoke. "Potter, Granger, Brown, Malfoy. You will accompany me to my office. Immediately." Just like that. It wasn't a request, nor even the rhetorical question of a teacher towards her students. Draco didn't object. Alongside the rest of the requested eighth years, he'd fallen into the headmistress's wake and quickly departed the Great Hall.

Draco had never been in the headmistress's office before, not even when it had been held by either of her two predecessors. It was a large room, circular and open, with an antique, polished desk taking up a significant proportion of it. The walls were lined with shelving, holding books old enough to be part of the Malfoy's ancient archives alongside metallic, glass and chiming implements that Draco recognised as being magical artefacts and where windows didn't sit above that shelving peered portraits. Old portraits of ancient and middle aged witches and wizards that Draco could only assume from the presence of Severus and Dumbledore amongst them were the previous headmasters and headmistresses of the school.

Severus had pinned him with a stare as soon as Draco had stepped into the room. To anyone else his gaze might have appeared a blank stare, cool and detached, but to Draco… he'd seen that expression far too many times throughout his life. It was the expression that clearly demanded " _What have you done now, you fool?_ " with a mixture of exasperation and resignation though confidence that he could fix whatever mess Draco had landed himself in.

Except that he couldn't. Not this time, because Severus was a bloody portrait. Draco had to fight back the upwelling of grief at the thought, of hatred for everything that had changed about the school and his life in general, many of which he was still noticing only for the first time in many instances. It was frustrating that in so noticing he could be knocked so profoundly time and time again. Even more when if caught him off guard and out of place.

Such as when he stood beneath the scolding glare of the headmistress herself. Except that McGonagall wasn't glaring. Not really, anyway. She had appeared to be adopting a similar expression to such at first, but that had faded into a consuming weariness. When she eased herself down into the high-backed chair behind the desk, she even paused for a moment to close her eyes and rub her forehead.

When the headmistress finally spoke it was with a sigh. "I did anticipate something like this would happen."

Draco blinked. Then he frowned, his awkwardness as to their situation, as to Severus' unwavering gaze upon him, fading into indignation. "You knew this would happen and yet you still allowed the foxlets into the castle?"

He could feel the glares of his classmates upon him without glancing in their direction. Or at least, he could feel Granger's glare, and Brown's who, for the first time that term term, appeared to harden herself for long enough to express a semblance of anger. Potter didn't, Draco noticed out of the corner of his eye. Potter didn't glare. If anything he simply looked as wearied as McGonagall. It was almost resigned. He still held his wand in the hand that wasn't propped beneath Pipsqueak's rump, though he hardly looked inclined to using it anymore.

McGonagall uttered another sigh and it held just a touch of exasperation. "I did not know for certain, Mr Malfoy. I suspected that it _could_ happen, from the information that was provided to me by Professor Hagrid. I had _hoped_ that such an eventuality could be avoided."

Before Draco could speak in rebuke once more anything, Potter spoke up. His voice was quiet but succeeded in silencing him entirely. "What do we do, Professor?"

McGonagall drew her gaze from where it had settled upon Draco to rest on Potter instead. Or Potter and Pipsqueak to be more precise, as Draco saw her eyes flicker between the two of them. Another sigh proceeded her words. "By all rights I should order them from the school. I must, for the safety of the students. They have demonstrated dangerous tendencies in their potential aggression and, after what the male exhibited –"

"Tod," Brown interrupted quietly, but just loud enough to draw McGonagall to a halt.

"I beg your pardon?"

"His name's Tod," she repeated. Her eyes were downcast, chin tucked, and she appeared nothing if not discomforted by the attention the headmistress was affording her, but Draco had to at least credit her persistence. Pointless as such an objection was – really, who cared what the Weasley foxlet was called? – he had to acknowledge her attempt.

McGonagall was silent for a moment, staring at Brown, before she seemed to shake off whatever had held her tongue. "My point is that it would be a failing on my part to allow things to continue as they have after such an incident arose. As headmistress, it is my duty to protect the students. Such is always the duty afforded to those beneath my duty of care."

Draco felt his gaze draw unconsciously towards the portraits of the previous heads upon the walls. Or more correctly to one in particular. He bit back a snort. Dumbledore had evidently been driven by a different set of morals to McGonagall, had felt less of a compulsive 'duty of care' to his students. In his first year alone Draco could name half a dozen incidents that were a breach of such conduct. The troll in the dungeons at Halloween? Allowing his students to partake of their detention in the frightfully dangerous Forbidden Forest of all places? And that was to say nothing of what had reportedly been the philosopher's stone stashed away in the depths of the castle guarded by – if gossip was to be believed – a giant three-headed dog. Yes, apparently McGonagall sought to approach her 'duty of care' in an entirely different manner to Dumbledore.

"So you're expelling the – the foxlets from school grounds?" Granger asked in an uncharacteristically small voice.

McGonagall drew her attention towards her instead. A touch of apology settled upon her face. "I believe that such would be the most appropriate course of action, yes."

Silence fell. Thoughtful yet sorrowful silence. Draco had to admit that he felt his own touch of sorrow at the headmistress' words. Sadness? Really? He hadn't thought he cared enough about the foxlets to be sad. Pipsqueak was ridiculously cute, true – far cuter than Granger's or the Weasleys' – but actually saddened?

It was strange. Unexpected. A little pathetic, really.

When Potter spoke, his quiet tone made it seem louder than it was. "Alright, then, professor. I'm really sorry about all this but I completely understand. We'll leave before the end of the day, I promise."

Draco blinked in much the same way as he noticed McGonagall did before turning his sidelong stare towards Potter. Potter who, holding Pipsqueak snuggled into his shoulder more firmly, wore an expression of resignation but kept his chin up and resolute nonetheless. Draco blinked some more. "What -?"

"What are you talking about, Potter?" McGonagall asked, speaking Draco's thoughts before he could himself.

Finally, Potter stuck his wand back into his pocket, if only to raise his second hand to hold Pipsqueak more firmly. The foxlet's tails curled around his wrist as though grasping it for support. Determination seemed to settle more comfortably upon Potter's face. "I'll have to go with her, is all. Pips is bonded to me and she'll just get distressed if she's by herself. That's how they turn into… into Berserkers, apparently." A touch of something pained flashed briefly across his face before he schooled it into firmness once more. "I really don't want that to happen, professor. Not to Pips. Avoiding them going Berserk – I guess that's what Hagrid was hoping for when he asked us to care for them." Then Potter glanced towards Granger, towards Brown. "I'll take Kitsune as well, if you'd like."

In any other situation, Draco would have found the horror playing across Granger's face amusing. "You can't leave school, Harry," she stage-whispered, her tone just as horrified as her expression.

Potter shrugged, though Draco barely even noticed enough to feel frustrated by the gesture he usually found _so annoying_. "Someone has to take care of the foxlets. May as well be me."

"But what about school?"

Another shrug. "Pipsqueak feels more important to me at the moment."

A flicker of guilt sprung and grew upon Granger's face. She grimaced slightly, her own gaze turning towards the foxlet in Brown's arms. "But…"

"I'll come too," Brown abruptly interrupted. She shifted the white foxlet in her arms, holding it more tightly, and a similarly determined expression, more unwavering than any Draco had seen her wear all year, settled upon her face. "I can't leave Kitsune without at least one of her bond-parents."

Potter nodded, easily accepting her words. "If you'd like. I don't mind either way." Then he turned expectantly back to McGonagall. The headmistress, lips pursed, regarded them both in turn.

"That was not what I was insinuating," she said, a frown rapidly wrinkling her brow. "I don't want you to leave the school, Potter. Either of you."

"I know you don't, Professor," Potter said with a remarkably wise ring to his tone. Potter? Wise? It was thoroughly disconcerting to contemplate. "But you don't want the foxlets to hurt anyone either."

"Harry," Granger began again.

"It's alright, Hermione, really. I don't even know why I'm at school in the first place, actually."

Granger seemed just as horrified by his words as by the prospect of the foxlets getting expelled. "What do you…?"

But Potter was turned back towards McGonagall. "We could leave within the hour if you'd like. Just so long as I could get my things."

McGonagall stared. She stared and seemed on the verge of protest, though evidently knew not how to approach doing so. Surprisingly, Draco found himself in much of the same boat.

Potter was leaving? With Pipsqueak? They were _both_ leaving, just like that, within the hour? No. No, Draco didn't like hat at all. He felt no fondness for either of them – he didn't, truly, he _didn't_ – but that… that was just…

No. No, it was wrong, in more than one way. Potter should be at Hogwarts, just like Draco. That was simply how it always was. The previous year had been tense with fear and foreboding, with unshakeable terror pervading the school, but even so Draco had noticed Potter's absence. It was strange, really – they had always been enemies, always rivalling and butting heads on the verge of a duel. Draco hadn't realised how much he'd grown to expect, to even rely upon that reality. Even in sixth year when he'd been admittedly distracted by the Vanishing Cabinet and unwillingly assisting the infiltration into the school, Potter had been there and it had been an odd sort of comfort.

Now Potter was leaving again? And more than that, he was taking Pipsqueak with him? Draco didn't like the foxlet – really, he _didn't_ – but the thought of her absence was… it was… it felt as wrong as Potter not being at Hogwarts. Draco didn't really know why, didn't where that emotion came from. He hadn't even touched the creature, let alone held her. Where did such begrudging affection arise from?

But whether it was affection or something else, Draco couldn't deny that the thought of the both of them leaving was painful. It would be just another difference to his life, one of the many differences that he was trying to ignore, that would shake his world once more like a ship upon a tumultuous sea. It _wasn't right_.

McGonagall was saying something but Draco didn't even register what it was that she said before he interrupted her. He didn't even know what he was going to say before the words tumbled from his mouth. "You don't have to leave."

McGonagall stopped speaking and snapped her attention towards him. Potter, too, and Granger and Brown. Even Pipsqueak, Draco noticed, her wide dark eyes peering up at him like a bashful child from Potter's shoulder. Her eyes were lowered, nearly flat against her skull, as though she were still upset from what had happened with the Weasley foxlet. Draco didn't know how he knew that – he was hardly an animal whisperer – but that was the distinct impression he got.

"Mr Malfoy, we've just discussed –"

"I mean it." Draco lifted his chin and turned back to McGonagall. "It's hardly fair that Potter should have to leave the school because his Familiar might not get along with the rest of the students."

"It's a little more than 'getting along'," Potter muttered, just as McGonagall asked, "Familiar?"

Draco nodded. Setting his shoulders, he thrust aside the rising foreboding, the almost-fear at the prospect of change arising once more that welled within him and faced the headmistress's surprise with determination of his own. "That is not expressly the term afforded to the bond, but bound they are. As much ask Potter to cut one of his own limbs off as to get rid of the foxlet at this stage. It's not an exaggeration, Professor. We've all read about it. It happens."

McGonagall pursed her lips and turned towards Granger out of all of them, as though seeking confirmation. "Is this true?"

Granger shifted slightly, but before she could reply Potter spoke. "It's not exactly a Familiar bond from what I can make out – I mean, I don't know a whole lot about Familiars or bonding, but the books say they're something pretty different – but yeah, we're sort of… bound."

"It would be painful to have Kitsune taken away," Brown murmured, and the glance she turned down at the white foxlet, who in turn tipped her head adoringly up at Brown, was sickeningly heartbroken.

"I didn't realise this," McGonagall muttered, frown deepening once more.

"It's hardly fair," Draco continued. "As much ask a paraplegic to walk. Or an _Obliviate_ victim to 'just remember'."

Draco could feel Potter's startled gaze turn towards him. He glanced at him sidelong, at the raised eyebrows and slow blinks of surprised. "What?"

Potter shrugged – which naturally caused Draco to frown at the stupid gesture – and shook his head. "Nothing. That's just surprisingly sympathetic of you, Malfoy."

"Shut up, Potter," Draco grumbled before turning back to McGonagall. "I would propose that, instead of an expulsion of the foxlets, a physical as well as a mental bond should exist with the parents. To make sure they can be kept under control."

"Parents?" McGonagall asked, an eyebrow arching.

"It's the name given to the one's they're bonded to," Granger explained. She appeared to take comfort in objectively relaying the fact.

McGonagall turned her raised eyebrow upon Potter, then Brown. "It would perhaps be possible, would be a precautionary measure that could… suffice. But that would leave yourselves as endangered by potential degeneration into aggression when such arises.

Potter shrugged again and dammit, Draco just wanted to clamp a hand down on his shoulder to stop the nonchalant gesture. It was so half-hearted that it just vexed him. "Personally I'd just be as endangered with that as I would be if I left the school. I'm not going to leave Pips alone, not until she doesn't need me anymore." Brown nodded in fervent agreement while another flash of guilt crossed Granger's face. "Besides, we're eighth years. We should be able to take care of situations like that, right? So if that would be enough for you, Professor, then that's fine with me."

McGonagall regarded them all for a moment, her gaze settling first upon Pipsqueak then on the foxlet in Brown's arms. Finally, she nodded, and Draco released a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. "Alright. That would be… alright. As long as at least one of you is constantly tied to the foxlets, and you promise to respond promptly and accordingly when they descend into aggressive behaviour."

" _If_ ," Potter corrected, and there was a very pronounced defiance in his tone. " _If_ they go Berserk. It's not necessarily going to happen, professor."

McGonagall's eyebrow twitched for a moment before she appeared to consider that the effort of arguing was hardly worth it. Dipping her head in a nod, she rose from her seat and drew her wand. "That's settled then. One of you joined at all times."

"Yes, professor," Potter, Granger and Brown chorused, with the foxlets giving a subsequent _yip-yap_ s that seemed to agree in turn. Draco didn't bother to reply. It was hardly necessary for him.

McGonagall cast the spell. In a flare of gold light, it shot towards first Potter then Brown, looping in a sparkling bracelet around each of their wrists before extending in a linked chain towards a collar that sprung into glittering existence around both foxlet's necks. Draco heard Pipsqueak give a startled squeal and couldn't withhold a slight flinch at the sound. He schooled himself appropriately a second later. When the spell was complete, a combined collar-bracelet contraption joined each foxlet to their holder.

McGonagall nodded her head in satisfaction of her efforts, dropping her hands to rest with fingertips upon the desk. "It is complete. The bracelets can be exchanged between carers, but the collars remain firmly attached at all times. Ensure that you maintain your word. All of you." Draco didn't miss that she included him in her sweeping gaze. He didn't miss it but chose to ignore it. Draco was the first to lead the way from the headmistress' office to the murmured of, "Thank you, Professor"s behind him.

When he stepped out into the corridor it was to pause only briefly, to cast a glance over his shoulder at Potter and Pipsqueak – for some reason he couldn't help himself – before taking off at a stride towards his Arithmancy class. Only for Potter to call out to him a moment later and stall him in step.

"Malfoy, wait a second!"

Glancing over his shoulder, Draco paused mid-stride. He turned towards Potter, regarding him as he murmured something to Granger, who nodded in reply, sadness touching her expression before following Brown in the opposite direction with a brief "See you there then". He trotted to Draco's side a moment later, sliding Pipsqueak back up onto his shoulder to wrap herself as a thick scarf around his neck once more.

When Potter paused before him, silent and simply staring for a moment, Draco raised an expectant eyebrow. "Well? What?"

Potter looked awkward. Awkward and yet determined, in an odd combination that Draco couldn't deny was strangely fascinating to observe. Then he seemed to pool his mental strength, nodding before speaking. "I just wanted to talk to you about something."

"I believe that is what we're doing."

Potter nearly rolled his eyes before make a visible effort not to do so. "You don't make it easy, do you?"

"Make what easy?"

"For people to be… cordial with you."

Draco snorted. "Why on earth would I want you to be cordial with me?"

Potter seemed about to reply with something a little less than 'cordial' before once more he making the effort to prevent himself from doing so. With a deep breath, raising his gold-braceleted hand to touch Pipsqueak – was that a gesture of reassurance for himself or the foxlet? Draco didn't know – he quirked his lips to the side. "We need to change this."

Draco blinked. "Change what?"

"This," Potter reiterated, gesturing between them. "How we treat one another and all that. It's not going to work if every second word you say to me is either sarcastic or insulting."

"Every second word?" Draco drawled, raising his eyebrow. "Surely I do better than that."

Potter sighed. He adopted with that world-weariness once more that seemed far too mature for him. "See what I mean? That."

"If you have a problem with me then you're more than welcome to just bugger off," Draco grumbled, folding his arms across his chest. "I don't particularly want you hanging around like a bad smell. You're like a Sticking Charm without an expiry date."

It wasn't entirely true, of course. Not even remotely true, Draco realised, with the memory of what he'd felt up in the headmistress' office swimming to the forefront of his mind. He _needed_ Potter around, even if he was a stupid prat who shrugged too much and smiled like an idiot at Pipsqueak when he showered her with attention, a smile that Draco did not in any way find himself staring at whenever it arose. Potter was one of only few of his anchors to Hogwarts, to sanity, and he alongside Pipsqueak had somehow become important enough for Draco to speak up in their defence at mention of their self-imposed expulsion.

What was wrong with him?

"I can't do that, actually," Potter said, and Draco had to rake his mind for what words he'd spoken to elicit such a response.

"What?"

"Bugger off," Potter elaborated. "I can't do that. _We_ can't do that." He gestured towards himself and Pipsqueak indicatively, the foxlet giving a little " _yip_ " of acknowledgement as she glanced up at his words. Her gaze trained with their disconcerting darkness upon Draco once more and it was a struggle to shrug his unease off. "Pipsqueak needs you just as much as she needs me."

"What a load of bollocks," Draco blurted before he could stop himself. Yes, he did just _maybe_ give Potter am underhanded compliment but… he hoped Potter didn't realise.

That hope rapidly disappeared before small smirk that Potter failed to suppress. "Well, maybe not _as_ much as me. I am pretty incredible."

"Shut the fuck up, Potter," Draco sniffed. "If you keep it up your head will swell too large to fit through the classroom door. And then what would you do with yourself? You wouldn't be able to annoy me in every lesson."

"What a shame that would be," Potter murmured, still smirking in an entirely vexing manner. He seemed to be talking more to himself than to Draco, however. A moment later he was shaking himself from his thoughtfulness and the smirk faded from his from his face. "But seriously –"

"I am being entirely serious. You're just an idiot that doesn't realise."

Potter paused, blinked at him, and seemed to have to take a calming breath before he continued. The thought that Draco might have aggravated him just a little was surprisingly satisfying; he hadn't even considered how much he was anticipating such a response until he received it. "What I'm _saying_ , if you'll let me finish, is that we need to work together. None of this ignoring one another except to argue business. It won't work."

 _Why not?_ A voice at the back of Draco's mind whined. He had to agree with it, at least silently. Draco was _born_ to argue – his father had often told him he would make a remarkably adept lawyer for sheer persistence and thrill of the debate as much as anything else. But he shunted the thought aside, as much out of curiosity as anything else. Working together with Potter? The thought itself was somehow… tantalising. "Why in Salazar's name would I do that?"

"Because of Pipsqueak," Potter said shortly. Just that and nothing more.

It was enough, though. Abruptly, Draco understood. They had to work together to care for Pipsqueak, to avoid opposing one another or arguing, or else a repeat performance of that morning would appear upon the horizon. Weasley and Weaslette had already proved what would happen if discord rose to verbal blows. The black foxlet was still snapping at an ashen Weasley had carried him from the Great Hall not an hour before, his sister trailing behind him with eyes glued to the snarling creature. If that happened to Pipsqueak…

Draco didn't like animals. He didn't like them at all. He hadn't even touched Pipsqueak, let alone interacted with her in any more affectionate manner. And yet the thought of her becoming a rabid beast was actually horrifying. Draco still called her a rabid squirrel but it was more from habit, he knew, even with the memory of his first assault still clear in his mind. He didn't know why, didn't know where the notion came from, but he could recognise it. Was it because of the bond? The damned bond that had urged Potter to follow Draco around largely silently most of every day? Possibly. Surprisingly, it didn't bother him as much as he knew it should.

Potter was offering him a white flag of ceasefire, as it were. Of truce, if only temporarily in order to raise the foxlet into something other than a Berserker. Draco didn't realise how much he wanted that until he deliberately considered it. He didn't want Pipsqueak to go Berserk. Not at all. She should stay just as she is now, maybe growing a little bit – or a lot – bigger and a little more independent, but still the same. Not like the black foxlet. Not at all.

Potter hadn't spoken after his announcement. He appeared to be awaiting an end to Draco's thought processing, allowing him to come to the realisation of the import of his words for himself. The fact that Potter had anticipated Draco's response irritated him just a little, so he deliberately waited a handful of pointless moments longer. When he finally spoke it wasn't in agreement. "It would never work."

"Why not?" Potter asked. He sounded more curious than objectionable.

"Because, Potter, in case you've forgotten, we fought for the first six years of our schooling lives. You hate me."

"No I don't," Potter shrugged, and for once Draco was too distracted to do more than notice. What? What, so Potter didn't hate him? When had that happened. "I don't think I've actually hated you for years, Malfoy. I don't know if I ever did."

Draco stared. He stared until he realised he was likely making a fool of himself, and then he stared some more. He _knew_ Potter had hated him, just as he – Well, no, not just like Draco. Draco had realised that, relatively speaking, he didn't really hate Potter either. Not now and perhaps not ever, when he considered those he _truly_ hated. "I…"

"You don't have to say anything," Potter said, glancing to the side as though abruptly embarrassed by the situation. "I'm just asking if maybe… well, if maybe we could try and not be so, ah…"

"Committed to conflict?" Draco offered.

"Yeah, exactly," Potter nodded. "And maybe, I don't know, if you could try and… get involved a little more?"

Draco narrowed his eyes, tightening the fold of his arms. "Are you reprimanding me for not looking after Pipsqueak?"

"I'm just saying that maybe if you helped out a little more she might be a bit happier."

"She's happy enough."

"She misses you when you're not around, you know."

"Well, she seems to be doing just fine as she is with _just_ you."

Potter frowned. "Maybe, but the likelihood of her being _fully_ alright would probably increase if we _worked. Together._ "

Draco narrowed his eyes further. "You're trying to guilt trip me," he accused.

Potter didn't even bother denying it. "We're both her parents, it shouldn't just be my responsibility."

"Are you trying to tell me you don't _want_ to look after her?"

"That's not what I said."

"That's what it sounded like you said."

"Well, I didn't. I love looking after her and having her around. I'm just saying this needs to be a two person job, whether I like it or not."

"Just because _you_ want to –"

"Just because _Pipsqueak_ wants to."

"You're putting words into her mouth."

"I'm speaking it like it is!"

"This is just you guilt tripping me again!"

 _"Eeeeee-yip!_ "

The sound of the foxlet's chirruping interruption abruptly silenced Draco and Potter both. They turned as one towards her where she was pressing her cheek into the side of Potter's head, ears twitching in agitation and eyes flared wide. She clung to her tail as though struggling to tighten her wrap around Potter's neck.

They were silent for a moment until suddenly Potter gave a small chuckle. Draco drew his attention from Pipsqueak towards the grin spreading across his face. "What?"

Potter shook his head. "Nothing. It's just that it kind of sounds like we're two parents arguing over their kid."

Draco flinched at the notion. "Please never say that again."

"I won't if you promise to try and work with me," Potter countered.

Draco opened his mouth to reply but found that for once he was absented of words. Really, what did he have to respond to that? He knew, when he thought about it, that he truly was simply being objectionable. He was going to work with Potter, for Pipsqueak if nothing else.

No, _only_ because of Pipsqueak. There was no other reason.

Huffing a frustrated sigh, Draco lifted his chin and glanced at nothing over his shoulder. Anything to avoid Potter's expectant gaze that so infuriatingly had the power to render him speechless when not darkened with anger. "Fine. Whatever."

Draco could hear the smile in Potter's words when he started to speak and couldn't help but glance sidelong back towards him. "Great! Perfect."

Draco sniffed. "So what do we do, then? I mean, how do we even go about…?"

"Being friendly?" Potter shrugged, raising a hand to scratch at the side of his head as though the thought physically strained his mental capacity. "Well, we could start by… um…"

"What?" Draco felt a touch of foreboding at the struggle on Potter's face.

"Just calling each other by our first names." Potter actually winced at that, as though expecting lightning to strike him down for the suggestion. Or maybe for Draco to smite him more correctly for the glance he peered up at him. He didn't look so much reluctant himself as he was very definitely awkward. "That wouldn't be too hard for you would it… Draco?"

The sound of his name being spoken by Potter of all people was unhinging enough that Draco almost missed the condescension of his question. Almost, but not quite, and work together though he might have agreed to do Draco would be damned if he'd let Potter get one up on him.

Harry. Let _Harry_ get one up on him. Merlin, but that sounded strange even in thought. "Whatever. Harry."

Harry smiled. It was a different kind of smile to the one he was familiar with, but for once Draco didn't find such a difference all that objectionable.


	8. Chapter 8 - Intermediate

**Chapter 8: Intermediate**

 _Whether in their natural environment or in an artificial context, a change in territory or territorial boundaries can at times be a disconcerting experience for a foxlet glider. Through less pronounced in juveniles, the typical procedure of distinguishing territory borders and familiarising with fellow community inhabitants – friendly or otherwise – can at times be an extensive sequence._

 _This process can be soothed, however, by the presence and companionship of bond-partners or natal fellows. Given that frequently it is the Berserkers that require relocation, with the majority only capable of co-mingling with an absence of aggression in particularly large environments, this companionship is all the more necessary. For those introduced into an environment already boasting the presence of established foxlets, it is often beneficial to have an intermediary of sorts – creature or human – that can act as a bridge between the new and established. Though often initially volatile, when common ground is reached ensuing relationships that develop can often be quite strong._

* * *

Pipsqueak had slipped down into Harry's arms, a request to be hugged rather than observe from her perch at his neck, when they'd approached Hagrid's hut. She was still huddled in the folds of Harry's overcoat, shivering from either distress or the cold, nearly an hour later. Harry knew that foxlet gliders disliked the cold on general principle but he hadn't thought they to be that bad. Not when there wasn't even any snow.

Which left distress as the likely cause. Harry couldn't really blame her for that.

The enclosure that had been erected for Tod was large. Huge, even, at least as large as the eighth year common room and made of tall frames hastily meshed together so effectively that Harry suspected Hagrid must have had it at least partially built for some time now. As though he'd anticipated such an eventuality arising, which, Harry considered, he probably had.

The interior was like a spacious den itself, complete with a bed of blankets, toys spread from wall to wall, and even the odd leaning sapling or fuzzy shrub scattered across the ground. It was like a greenhouse for the spells that Ginny and Ron had placed upon it, closeting the area in lukewarm temperature. Harry had been able to feel that warmth when he'd raised a hand towards the mesh fence in the brief moments he'd approached. Only briefly, however, because the foxlet inside had hissed and spat at he and Pipsqueak aggressively enough that Pips had squealed in panicked yips and for the first time actually nearly thrown herself from Harry's shoulder. He'd retreated after that to watch from afar beside Lavender who similarly held a trembling Kitsune to her chest.

Ron and Ginny were inside the enclosure with Tod. Their foxlet was still twitching and snapping with his Berserker aggression, yet clearly didn't view them as a potential enemy. Quite the opposite, in fact; when he prowled past Ginny it was to butt his fluffy head affectionately into the side of her leg, or he he would wind his way through Ron's legs before slinking away to skirt the perimeter of his new enclosure with teeth bared in a snarl. Ron and Ginny seemed torn as to whether to be horrified by his continued aggression or relieved that at least Tod wasn't aggressive towards _them._

Hermione stood with them. Not inside the enclosure, for Tod apparently didn't like that if his growls in her direction were any indication, but outside, talking quietly through the meshing to a distraught Ron who had briefly broken into sniffling and barely suppressed tears some time ago. Harry couldn't blame him for such a response; he had no doubt that he would be just as distraught had Pipsqueak exploded in such a manner. The thought made him squeeze Pips all the tighter, to which the foxlet didn't appear to object in the slightest.

"I 'spected it was going teh happen. Maybe not quite so fast, but I 'spected it nonetheless."

Harry glanced up at Hagrid at his side. He hadn't even noticed his approach, so focused was he upon the enclosure, upon Tod and Ron and Ginny. He felt for them all, really, he did, even if he did feel a touch of the reprimand he knew Hermione was struggling not to voice rise within him. They'd known. Ron and Ginny should have known that such open conflict distressed the foxlets. They'd all read about it in one of their numerous library visits. It was just… perhaps the bonding and Tod's dependence was just poor timing. It probably wouldn't have happened, wouldn't have been so volatile, had they been trapped into caring for a foxlet glider two years ago. Probably.

"You didn't tell us that you _knew_ it was going to happen, Hagrid," Harry rebuked, struggling not to frown up at him. "Some warning would have been nice."

Hagrid's expression became apologetic as he winced. "Yer right, Harry. O' course yer right. I just… yeh wouldn't have been likely teh offer teh care fer them if yeh'd known, would yeh?"

Harry shook his head. Who would honestly offer to look after a potentially dangerous magical creature that expressed a high likelihood of maturing into a rabid monster, let alone be bonded to one? "No, probably not."

"I'm sorry," Hagrid muttered, and he truly did sound remorseful. "I hope yeh can forgive me some day fer not tellin' yeh all. Do yeh regret it, bonding with Pipsqueak there?"

Harry was shaking his head before he'd even really had a chance to think about it. Did he regret being bound to a potentially violent creature who, even no bigger than a small dog, could likely do a whole heap of damage? No, he didn't. Not for a second. Pipsqueak shifted slightly in his arms, humming in affection as though she'd heard his thoughts. Considering her empathy, it was very likely that she did. "No, I don't regret it. After having Pipsqueak, how could I? She's great." It was such an inadequate word for Pips but then no words really seemed adequate.

The smile Hagrid turned upon him, a mixture of persisting apology, gratitude and affection, alleviated any disgruntlement Harry might have felt towards him. He turned silently to watching Tod in his enclosure once more.

They'd missed Care of Magical Creatures – or he and Pipsqueak had, at least. Hagrid had allowed it readily enough considering the situation. They'd missed Transfiguration too, however, though Harry suspected that McGonagall, the still-acting professor of that class, would be as lenient as Hagrid had been. She knew what was going on, knew that Ron and Ginny both would be distressed, and Harry knew she wasn't nearly hard-hearted enough to demand that he and Hermione leave them alone to undergo their period of distress alone. It might be a little unconventional, for unconventional reasons, but… Well, Harry knew that he would have stayed down alongside Tod's new den with his friends even if McGonagall hadn't approved.

The lunch bell had rung by the time Ron finally extracted himself from the enclosure. Hagrid had left Harry's side to ready himself for his next class some time before, so it was only Harry and a silent, solemn Lavender waiting slightly up the hill for them. Hermione had her arm around his shoulder, was muttering soothing words as she rubbed her hand upon the outside of Ron's jacket. He looked pale, red-eyed and audibly sniffled when he paused beside Harry to glance over his shoulder behind him once more. Harry had to marvel just a little as to the response, that he wasn't the only one who had become thoroughly smitten by the foxlets. Ron and Hermione both were just as taken with them. Ron must have been heartbroken.

"Ginny says she's going to stay down here with Tod a little longer," he said with another sniff, swiping a hand beneath his nose. "She hasn't got any more classes for the day anyway, so…"

Harry reached out a hand to pat his awkward commiseration on Ron's shoulder, which his friend acknowledged with a feeble smile. "I'm probably going to head on back down when I've grabbed a bite," he continued. "Maybe bring Gin something down too."

Hermione looked set to congratulate Ron on his consideration for his sister, especially after such an explosive confrontation, so Harry hastily stepped in to waylay her. "Sure thing, Ron. I'll come down with you for a bit if you'd like."

Ron only shook his head, however. "Nah, 's alright. You should probably go to Ancient Runes, yeah? For Pipsqueak, so she can be with Malfoy, right?"

Harry fought the urge to refute his friend's words. Not because they weren't true but because he felt he should be with Ron at such a time rather than seated beside a rigid and largely objectionable Malfoy. No, and objectionable _Draco_ , he reminded himself, and had to mentally shake his head over the strangeness of thinking of him as such. It was such a small thing but seemed so profound. Harry wondered how long the strangeness would persist.

Ron wasn't looking at him anymore, however, had turned back to where Tod was skulking back towards Ginny's side to lean against her leg once more. Ginny lowered herself into a squat, stroking gently at Tod's hackles that even after hours of first becoming a Berserker were still raised. The foxlet looked different, Harry thought, and it wasn't just for the aggression. He actually did appear to have suddenly swelled in size, was definitely distinctly larger than Pipsqueak and Kitsune both, now, and moved with a threatening confidence of step that put Harry in mind of a stalking predator. He wondered how much the active aggression would last for. Luna, their resident yet frustratingly vague expert upon Berserker maturation, had said it could continue for days before he calmed, though he would likely never be truly calm again. That was just what a Berserker was – the territorial, aggressive defenders of the family group. It was just unfortunate that they became as such instinctively when it was so unnecessary.

"How about we do that, then?" Hermione suggested, pushing aside the solemn mood that had fallen upon them all. "We'll go and get some lunch and head back down. I'll come with you if Lavender's alright with that, so Harry can go with Malfoy to Ancient Runes."

Ron shook his head, turning a small, struggling smile towards Hermione. "You don't have to do that, Hermione. I'm alright, really."

"No you're not. And yes, I do."

"You, miss a class?" Ron's smile came slightly easier this time. "No way."

"It's alright," Hermione waved aside more casually than she had _ever_ been missing a class. She leaned around Ron to glance towards Harry. "Harry can take notes for me, can't you Harry?"

Harry opened his mouth to protest before slowly pressing his lips shut with a sigh. "Yeah, okay." _Maybe I'll just steal Mal-_ Draco's _notes. Hermione would be horrified if I tried to give her my own._

Hermione beamed at him with more brightness than was perhaps warranted for his reply. Linking her arm through Ron's, she deliberately turned them with only a final brief glance towards Ginny before urging them back towards the castle. Harry fell into step alongside the still-silent Lavender, each of them holding the foxlet's tightly against their chests. Lavender looked as though she would never let Kitsune go, her face so tight and strained from the build-up of anxiety that the scars across her face were stretched to stark whiteness. She lifted her eyes from the top of Kitsune's head as though feeling Harry's attention upon her and couldn't even seem to conjure an attempt of a smile in return to that he offered her.

The Great Hall was loud with the chatter of students as they went about their lunch. The momentary blast of terror from that morning had dwindled with Tod's absence into the casual light-heartedness that was always assumed, even when strained by the aftermath of a near disaster. Hogwarts' students were remarkably resilient like that. The chatter died only briefly when Harry and his friends stepped through the door.

Ron dipped his chin almost bashfully at the attention that turned towards him, though in Harry's eyes there was more grief than embarrassment sketched across his face. He tightened his arm around Hermione and leaned into her further as they made their way towards the Gryffindor table.

Harry moved to follow in their wake, and would have except that Pipsqueak gave a whimpering " _yip_ " in a tone that he knew only too well. He paused in step, closed his eyes briefly and schooled the rising vexation that welled within him; not at Pipsqueak herself but merely at the circumstances that had led to his situation. Why couldn't Malfoy – _Draco_ come and sit at Gryffindor table for once?

"Do we really have to?" Harry muttered, turning to meet Pipsqueak's wide-eyed stare. Her ears were folded back along her head as though she were ashamed of herself, and she even touched a tentative paw to his cheek in such a humanly feeble gesture of apology that Harry couldn't help but discard his frustration. "Alright. It's okay. Don't look so upset."

Pips only uttered another little mew of sorrow as Harry turned back towards Ron's and Hermione's retreating backs, Lavender barely a step behind them. "Hey, guys," he called, just loud enough to catch their attention. They all glanced towards him, and he scratched at the side of his head awkwardly. "Sorry about this but I've got to… I mean, I don't want to but I think I should… Pips is…" He trailed off, gesturing towards the Slytherin table by way of explanation.

Lavender's eyebrows rose in surprise before she gave a wince of sympathy. Hermione looked about to object, but then Ron silenced her with another tightening of his arm around her shoulders and an understanding nod of his head. "'S alright, Harry. Gotta look after Pips, yeah? If she needs you to go and sit with the Slytherins then that's okay, mate."

Harry offered his friend an apologetic smile that felt as feeble as Pipsqueak's mews. It was likely overlooked for the fact that Hermione, appearing to have melted just slightly at Ron's words, stretched up on her toes and pressed a kiss upon his cheek. The tension Ron held in his frame seemed to lessen slightly at that.

Harry had to turn away. It wasn't because he didn't feel happy seeing his friends happy, even after such a situation, but because… he just felt like he had to. It wasn't even because he felt like he was intruding upon their time together but more because he simply felt uncomfortable witnessing it. That, and there was a sort of tightness in his chest whenever he considered them both, and both of them together, that made him feel slightly unwell. He made his way across the room towards the Slytherin table, ignoring the stares to seat himself across from Mal – no, he had to stop doing that – _Draco_ and Zabini.

"… can't help it if I'm better at it then you are. You should appreciate my talents, Draco," Zabini was saying.

Draco snorted, shaking his head. "You do realise it was a fluke, yes?"

"It was not."

"It was. If you can't replicate the transfiguration, it was based entirely on luck. Just accept it, will you, so we can move on from this conversation?"

Zabini appeared to have already done so before Draco had finished speaking, however. His attention had turned towards Harry as he set about filling his plate with lunch, pausing only to offer Pipsqueak a corn on the cob that she immediately set about picking at delightedly. Her delight was most likely because of Draco's proximity as because of her lunch. "Twice in one day, Potter. This truly is a pleasure."

Harry ignored Zabini, not because he was particularly offended but because he simply felt no need to respond. Zabini was obviously simply attempting to get a rise from him. Draco, unfortunately, seemed incapable of _not_ replying. "Do you feel the need to comment on everything, Blaise?" He asked, apparently overlooking the irony of his statement. He spared only a momentary glance towards Harry and Pips. Harry thought he even eyed Pips with slight approval, as though congratulating her table manners. Harry couldn't disagree to the sentiment; she really was quite decent.

"Speak for yourself, Draco," Zabini replied, but otherwise disregarded Draco's interruption to lean across the table towards Harry. Harry glanced up at him only briefly but it was enough to make him uneasy. Zabini looked like a wolf before a tottering lamb.

Harry didn't like to feel like a lamb.

"Really, Potter, if you keep this up the school will start to talk. Saviour of the Wizarding world, coming over to the dark side and all." Zabini clicked his tongue, shaking his head in false solemnity.

Harry paused in the act of cutting his sandwich in half to glance towards him. "Eighth years don't have houses, Zabini."

"So they say," Zabini refuted, smirking. He plucked at his tie, flapping the black and white-striped neckpiece pointedly. "It's supposed to be a symbol of neutrality and all but lets face it, ex-Slytherins stay at Slytherin table, ex-Gryffindors at the Gryffindor table and so on. That's just how it is."

Harry only shrugged – he didn't know Zabini well enough to jump into a debate with him and didn't feel particularly inclined to, certainly not today – but Draco spoke up in his stead. "Well, then I assume Harry will be the one to change that, paving the way as usual. Isn't that right?" Draco turned a raised eyebrow towards Harry almost accusingly, but Harry didn't really care. He found himself instead shifting uncomfortably for the fact that Draco had called him Harry. Would that ever _not_ sound strange?

Zabini evidently heard it to. "What? What's this? _Harry_ now, is it?" His smirk widened.

"Shut up, Zabini," Draco sniffed.

"Oh no, I don't think so." Leaning further across the table, Zabini pinned Harry with another predatory grin. "So, _Harry_. How's it feel to be an honorary Slytherin, now that the Slytherin prince himself has accepted you as one of his own?"

Harry struggled to ignore Zabini. He wasn't annoyed exactly, but more… discomforted by the entire situation. He didn't get annoyed so much anymore, not really, but it was still awkward to be the focus of such attention. Harry had never been one to take other people's shit, not even when the Dursley's attempted to walk over him, but he just could find the bother to attempt to defend himself at that moment. He simply set about making his way through his lunch.

Not that Zabini was deterred in the slightest, however. He only seemed driven to further prodding by Draco's drawling replies in Harry's stead. Harry would have thought him more capable of letting Zabini's obvious taunts slide, given that he'd been his friend for years, for surely he would have realised that answering Zabini only enticed him into further prodding, but Draco truly did appear to simply enjoy the sound of his own voice.

Zabini's questioning was abruptly interrupted just as he had begun to attempt to extract the location of the Gryffindor common room from Harry for God only knew what reason. "Because I always suspected that it was behind the Fat Lady, even after that incident in third year with the Grim, but –"

"Hello, Harry. I wondered where you'd gotten to. I only noticed you were over here when Ron directed me. He looked a little peaky, doesn't he?"

Harry glanced up at the sound of Luna's voice from where he'd been resolutely avoiding meeting Zabini's gaze. "Oh, hey Luna," he said as she slipped into the seat beside him, much to the blinking surprise of the seventh year now on the other side of her.

Luna offered him a dreamy smile before turning her attention towards Pipsqueak. "Oh, are you done, Pips? Here, I'll take that cob from you, then." Making good her claim, Luna plucked an shorn cob of corn from Pipsqueak's paws to her nonchalant " _yip_ " and placed it with perfectionistic precision in the very centre of the empty plate before herself. She nodded, as though satisfied with herself.

"Loony? Loony Lovegood?" Zabini finally appeared to have drawn his attention from Harry. His smile was still affixed; if anything appeared to have grown. "Well, this really is a pleasure. Draco, you should bond to random little rabid squirrels more often. It draws such interesting fodder to our table."

"Pipsqueak isn't rabid or a squirrel, Blasé," Luna chided, raising her brows mildly. "She's a foxlet gilder."

Zabini opened his mouth to reply before frowning and folding his arms across the table before him. "My name's Blaise, not Blasé, Loony."

"And my name's Luna, not Loony, Blasé," Luna replied in almost the exact same tone as Blaise had. Except that she punctuated her words with a beaming smile that crinkled her eyes and made her seem entirely innocent of any such slight. Harry, biting back a grin, had to admire that, and wondered at how much she was truly pulling his leg. Luna was an oddball, but incredibly intelligent in her own quirky way. She wasn't malicious nor deceptive in the least, but Harry wouldn't have put it past her to had run rings around Zabini.

For himself, Zabini stared at Luna. He stared as though he were seeing her for the first time. Then, in a bark so loud that it turned the heads of most of the Slytherin table, he burst out laughing. "Ha! Fantastic! I like you, Loony." He turned to grin towards Draco, who rolled his eyes and shook his head around a raised glass of water before frowning as Zabini jostled him with an elbow. "Yes, you can definitely bond with more rabid squirrels, Draco. I'm very much enjoying myself, thank you, my friend."

Harry shook his own head, turning his attention back to what remained of his lunch. He'd rather be sitting at Gryffindor table with Ron and Hermione, and would definitely be sitting with them at dinner, but at least he had Luna alongside him. Luna, who appeared to have appropriated the bowl of remaining corn cobs and was building a pattern around the shorn cob on the plate before her as Zabini continued to chatter at her. Harry doubted she heard a word he said.

Zabini wasn't all that bad, Harry considered. He was certainly far less objectionable than Draco was, though Draco wasn't being _too_ objectionable at least. For now, it was alright. A bit annoying, but alright. Besides, the humming purr that Pipsqueak muttered into his ear was more than enough to make up for any disgruntlement on his part.

* * *

"It's not like it would kill you."

"On the contrary, it very nearly could."

"God, you're such a bloody drama queen. I've done it for _you_ more times than I can count now."

"More times than you could count? Really? In this whole week you've sat at Slytherin table 'more times that you can count'? If so, your numeracy skills are truly appalling."

Harry stared at Draco flatly. It wasn't quite a glare but Draco considered it was certainly very close to being one. When he spoke it was low enough that no one else in the classroom, even the overly attentive Blaise, would have been able to hear him. "You think you're so clever, don't you? Throwing in an insult there like that."

Draco fought the urge to smirk and knew he failed. "It was warranted."

"No it wasn't. You only said it because you know _I'm_ right and don't have a better comeback."

"In what universe exactly would you be right before me?"

Harry deliberately turned his attention towards his parchment, picking up his quill and dipping it in ink. Not that he was listening to their Defence professor, Jones, closely enough to actually write anything of import down, but it was a fairly believable farce. "You're doing it again."

"Doing what?"

"Trying to distract me from the topic. Turning the conversation away from what we were talking about because you _know_ you're wrong."

 _Well, he's not wrong there_ , Draco thought, though of course he would never say as much aloud. To do so would be mortifying, and he would never live it down. Besides, it would likely also quell their argument, which was something that Draco doubted he would ever expressly choose to do.

They had been 'working together' for nearly a week now, a week in which they had both made the firm decision to stop the whole 'ignoring one another in each others presence and simply _being_ together for Pipsqueak's sake'. Instead, they would talk. They would interact. They would work together in class because it would mean that they Worked Together more, and that was something that was supposed to be good for bond-parents and hence for the foxlet glider bound to them.

It hadn't really been working very well. Or, in Draco's particular opinion, it had been working _very_ well.

He and Harry – because it was _Harry_ now, despite still feeling strange even after a week – had been comfortable enough throughout the initial term period. Harry would follow Draco to his extra classes, and Draco would get a reprieve from both he and Pipsqueak when he attended Herbology. Harry rarely spoke unless Draco chose to do so to him first, and even then it was with as much of that 'cordial' attitude as was absolutely possible. It was almost painful to listen to sometimes; people weren't _supposed_ to be so polite with one another and certainly not Harry to Draco.

But he was. The few times that he'd spoken out, had been vaguely objectionable or anything less than consistently lenient, had been so mild that it barely held a candle to the bonfire of their past confrontations. It was infuriating.

Now, though, Draco and Harry spoke more. They spoke more, interacted more, and, more importantly, they argued more. And Draco loved it.

It was a touch of the past, of how things _should_ have been, and was as relieving as a breath of fresh air. No, they didn't refer to one another with the scathing formality of surnames anymore, and they'd yet to have an all-out fight that Draco admitted he wouldn't exactly be averse to partaking in, but it wasn't as sickeningly mellow as it had been before. They argued, and Harry even seemed to become incensed at times. It was those brief displays of irritation, of frustration and maybe even a little anger quickly smothered as though Harry felt he wasn't _supposed_ to feel that way, that Draco lived for.

It was strange. So strange that Draco was baffled when he thought about it. He'd known that he relied upon Harry to instil a sense of normality upon the world, to act as one of the few constants in Draco's life. Harry had been his rival and daresay he claim his enemy for six years, something distinctly other for another, and then a shadowing, largely mute presence for the past few months. Yet Draco relied upon that.

He thought about the situation a lot, actually. Probably too much, just as he would find himself catching a glimpse at Harry sidelong, watching as he would flick his fringe out of his eyes – why didn't he just cut the thing if it was so annoying? – or when he picked and fiddled with the golden chain that tied him to Pipsqueak – Draco was _very_ glad it was Harry and not him who wore it – or when he turned his full attention upon the foxlet and beamed that sickly sweet smile down upon her. It reminded Draco of how people looked at their babies.

It was sickening, and Draco couldn't help but stare. Just as he couldn't help but argue and kick up a fuss whenever Harry made a suggestion. It was simply because he _had_ to. He didn't have a choice in the matter, and Blaise smirking knowingly at his other side didn't deter him from doing so in the slightest. Besides, in this case Draco felt himself entirely warranted in not agreeing with Harry. Not that he wasn't always warranted but this time especially. Sit at the Gryffindor table? Really? Because he didn't get enough suspicious sidelong glances already?

"You want to discuss the situation again?" Draco asked, voice low to similarly avoid disrupting their class. "Fine. We'll discuss it. And I'll tell you that it would be utterly ridiculous for me to come to the Gryffindor table because the distress that would radiate from every surrounding Gryffindor would more than upset Pipsqueak. It would be pointless for me to come at all."

Harry snorted softly, rolling his eyes in a display of frustration that Draco latched onto greedily because _this_ was the Harry he was familiar with. The one who would get frustrated and turn a frown upon him, even if it wasn't quite as heated as it used to be. There had been little enough of that Harry Potter since the war. Not that Draco missed him or anything but… consistency and all. Familiarity. He needed that. "No one would give a rat's arse if you sat at the Gryffindor table."

"Of course they would. They're Gryffindor's, I'm a Slytherin –"

"An ex-Slytherin."

"- and prejudices are usually next to impossible to shake," Draco finished, ignoring Harry's interruption. He didn't point out what they likely both knew; that it was more because he was an ex-Death Eater and son of a now-imprisoned Death Eater that he still got those glances. "I won't put up with that when I don't have to."

Harry frowned at him, and Draco noticed that he seemed to have entirely forgotten the quill in his hand. It was dripping an inky spot onto his parchment in a frankly distressing manner that Draco also chose to ignore. "Oh, so _I_ should have to put up with coming to your table but you shouldn't have to come to mine?"

Draco shrugged. "You're the one who's choosing to come to my table."

"We said we'd work together. For Pips." Seemingly unconsciously, Harry's hand rose to the foxlet who was draped over his shoulder. Not around his neck anymore, which Draco couldn't help but find a little saddening for some foolish reason. In the last week, Pipsqueak had apparently grown just a little too big to comfortably wrap herself around Harry's throat. "You promised."

"I made no such promise."

"Actually, you did," Blaise chimed in from Draco's other side, leaning around him to turn his smirk more easily between Draco and Harry. "I distinctly remember you saying you would work with Harry on this one. It was that lunch time when Harry started sitting at Slytherin table for the first time. Well, the second time, really, but I'm not sure if I count breakfast."

Draco turned a scowl upon his friend. Blaise was enjoying Draco's situation just a little too much, even more than Draco was himself, which was intolerable. Not to mention the fact that he appeared to have, with remarkable speed, opened his arms to offer Harry a welcoming friendship; he seemed to have accepted that Draco and Harry were on something of the same team, rather than that Harry simply followed him around everywhere. He'd similarly taken to using Harry's first name. It was as though an annoyingly buzzing fly that Blaise had previously overlooked had suddenly turned into a fairy that him granted three wishes. To Blaise, Harry had abruptly become a person of interest.

It annoyed Draco to now end, and not just because when he and Harry argued Blaise seemed to delight in taking Harry's side just to be an arse. "I made no such promise," he repeated. "I said I would _try_. There's a difference in insinuating merely an attempt."

"I think it's probably more that the insinuation was leaning towards enforcing the promise actually, Draco. That's how I heard it."

Draco his scowl in Harry's direction, drawing his gaze beyond to where Lovegood was sitting on his other side. For whatever reason, Lovegood appeared to have forsaken her usual seat alongside Weaslette and had taken up that next to Harry. Weaslette herself, as far as Draco could make out, appeared to be attempting to consolidate her frankly appalling relationship with her brother in the hopes of working together to help their Berserk foxlet. Although, admittedly, said foxlet appeared to have calmed down a little over the past days; he no longer seemed inclined to launch himself at the meshing of his cage whenever anyone came within sight of him. At least he didn't as far as Draco could tell; he'd only been down to see him twice, and only by accident.

By accident. Of course it was.

What the hell Lovegood thought she had to do with anything, and why she believed she had a right to partake in their conversation was a mystery to Draco. A very frustrating and irrational mystery. He'd always found the girl strange. She'd always been too vague, too flighty, her head in the clouds most of the time. She took _Divination,_ for Merlin's sake, and though it appeared to be a distinctly different type of precognitive practices than Trelawney taught it was still Divination. Lovegood was definitely more than a little bit insane.

But, more importantly, she was opposed to him in her argumentative stance. Draco glared at her. "No one asked for your opinion, Lovegood."

"Hey, hey, now that's a little unfair," Blaise muttered, nudging Draco slightly in reprimand. "Show a little consideration, Draco."

"Why do you always take Lovegood's side in these sort of situations?" Draco sighed, turning his frown towards his friend. Blaise and Lovegood were more often than not alongside he and Harry for whatever ungodly reason possessed them and Blaise appeared to have taken a liking to Lovegood. Draco could only be thankful that when Lovegood followed them she seemed to often be in exchange for Weasley and Granger. Draco heartily thanked Merlin for that fact. He didn't know if he could handle all three of them.

Blaise shrugged. "Loony has insight. What can I say?"

"Thank you, Blasé."

"You're most welcome."

"Alright, I've about had enough of this. Potter, Malfoy, Zabini and Lovegood, finish up with the talking now. I've let it go on for long enough."

As one, all four of them glanced up towards Professor Jones at the front of the room. Their new Defence professor was a kind enough woman; dark-haired and rosy cheeked, she resembled her niece, eighth year Megan Jones, almost uncannily closely. Draco recalled every time he saw her that she'd been a member of the Order of the Phoenix in the war. In the aftermath she'd assumed the post as Defence professor with little ceremony.

She was good at it, too, Draco had to admit. Real life experience certainly seemed to make a difference. More than that, she lacked any sort of looming intimidation, which was probably a benefit to most in their class who were still a little twitchy and nervous about practicing offensive spells against one another in deference to memory of the war. Unfortunately, she also had a keen ear. On more than one occasion, Draco and Harry's muttered arguments were interrupted by her chiding.

Jones raised her eyebrows as her attention fell upon each of them briefly in turn. It wasn't a scolding gaze by any means but more of a reminder, and there was even a hint of amusement evidenced. As Draco deliberately moved to pick up his quill once more, she gave a small nod of her head before turning back to writing on the blackboard at the front of the room. Their single periods were always a theory lesson, but Draco didn't mind so much. He set about instead ignoring Blaise's nudges for attention, fighting the urge to smirk at Harry's frown that turned upon him several times throughout the class, and copied the notes stuiously.

When the bell sounded to release them from class, Draco made his motions slow and deliberate. He was a reason for that; Harry would always wait for him because Pipsqueak often requested it, whereas Granger would be likely to rush out of the classroom with Weasley in tow, either to hasten to their next class with the irrational fear of being late or to rush down towards the foxlet's enclosure beside the gamekeeper's hut to ensure they had as much time with the Berserker as possible. If Draco took his time, he could usually avoid having to endure their company entirely.

Predictably, Granger vanished almost immediately, both Weasleys at her side and with only a pause to acknowledge Harry's long-suffering sigh and wave urging them onwards. Blaise and Lovegood too drifted towards the doorway, though Draco saw them pause to chat to one another just outside the classroom. The rest of the class filed out in their own time, and even Jones had disappeared into her back room by the time Draco rose to his feet and slung his bag over his shoulder.

"Draco, hold on a second."

Glancing up from where he was adjusting his bag to sit with perfect comfort, Draco raised an eyebrow at Harry's tone. "I'm not going to discuss the dining table situation right now, just so you know."

"Good thing I wasn't going to bring it up again, then," Harry replied, though Draco heard the unspoken _yet_ nonetheless. Instead, he reached up to Pipsqueak perched on his shoulder, who flowed like pooling water into his arms as though by unspoken request. Draco had to begrudgingly admire that; they seemed to communicate by some other hidden and non-verbal means that Draco couldn't detect. And yes, in spite of his best intentions, he might have felt just a little envious. Of Harry for Pipsqueak, of course, not the other way around. Only a little. It would be nice to have someone to immediately obey his orders without protest. "I want you to try something else."

"Why do I get the impression I'm not going to like this?" Draco asked, folding his arms across his chest to hide his discomfort.

Harry only shrugged. Then, in a slow, deliberate gesture, he raised Pipsqueak in his arms and held her out towards Draco. "Hold her."

Draco stared at the foxlet, meeting the wide, black-eyed gaze that blinked up at him with something that he could have sworn was hopefulness. She was indeed a bigger then she'd been a week ago. Draco hadn't noticed so much until she hung full-length before him but she was almost as long as his torso now. Perhaps a little longer for the black tips of her three tails that dangled beneath her, wagging and swirling around one another like those of an excited dog. Her front paws twitched slightly as though they were reaching for Draco, and the longer he stared at her the more enthusiastic she seemed to become. Her enormous ears began to swivel and her mouth opened just a little so that it appeared she was smiling up at him.

Draco stared at Pipsqueak. Then he glanced back up to Harry. Then back to Pipsqueak and back again. "No."

"Draco –"

"No, I'm not holding her."

"Don't be such a pussy, Draco."

Draco spluttered. "A pussy?"

Harry nodded, frowning slightly in an expression of stubbornness that was surprisingly devoid of anger. "You're too scared to hold her."

"I am not!"

"Then hold her."

"I don't want to. There's nothing wrong with not wanting to get fur and shit all over my fingers. And she's dirty. I don't want to touch her. I don't _have_ to touch her."

Harry's frown deepened and just a touch of irritation flared within them. Draco barely noticed, distracted as he was by Pipsqueak and the possibility looming over him. "First of all, she doesn't shed so you won't get hair all over you. Secondly, she has a shower with me every day so she's not dirty."

Draco snapped his stare up to meet Harry's. "She showers with you? What the hell, Potter?"

"Thirdly," Harry continued, ignoring him. "I don't give a shit if you don't want to touch her, because you're going to. You've had your way enough bloody times over these past few weeks. I'm putting my foot down for this." Yes, there was definitely irritation rising in Harry's voice, perhaps even a touch of anger. He really did seem to be pissed off. "And fourthly, yes, actually, you _do_ have to hold her. Because she's your bond-kid and it's your responsibility to help look after her."

Draco felt himself shrinking from the wriggling foxlet and the now-glaring Harry and had to physically stop himself from doing so. His shoulders felt achingly tight with the effort to withhold from hunching them. "It's not my responsibility. It doesn't matter if –"

"Yes, it does," Harry interrupted, and his voice was almost a snap. He definitely sounded angry now. Actually angry, in a way that Draco hadn't seen before. At least not this year, anyway. "You know she cries when you're too far away sometimes? Like she actually misses your sorry arse?"

Draco blinked. No, he hadn't known that. "I –"

"Apparently it can soothe their anxiety by something like forty per cent by having the combined contact of both their bond-parents. Yeah, I learned that last week from the book I ordered in the mail. It actually has a whole heap of _interesting_ facts about foxlet gliders in it." Harry's voice had become scathing now.

"That might be, but –"

"And if you for some _stupid_ bloody reason choose to push her away or disappear or whatever, the likelihood of her going Berserk increases by fifty per cent. Fifty per cent, Malfoy! You keep this up and you _double_ the chances she goes Berserk!"

Draco felt his mouth hang open and he had to make a physical effort to snap it shut. Oh. Oh, so that's… right. Harry was pissed off because of that. Because apparently Draco's reluctance was, in a way, endangering Pipsqueak. It angered him enough – or perhaps worried him enough – that Harry had actually snapped out of his persistent apathy for just about everything besides Pipsqueak and gotten angry. At Draco.

Draco liked arguing. He liked arguing with Harry. He had thought he'd been hanging out for a good, solid fight, an exchange of verbal blows and maybe even spells. But now… it hadn't even really been a real fight, more simply Harry getting actually angry and raising his voice. Surprisingly, Draco found that no, in fact, he did _not_ like an angry Harry as much as he had anticipated. He wasn't as tall as Draco, not quite, but when angry he seemed to loom like a shadow over him. His eyes sparked and his glare could likely kill small children should he turn it upon them. Even his stance appeared strong and stubborn, wide and grounded, as though he were positioning himself against an onrushing river and would absolutely refuse to budge.

Intimidating? Yes, perhaps it was just a little bit. Draco had never been intimidated by Harry Potter before, but now… More than that, he had to admit that for some unknown reason, the fact that Harry had called him Malfoy stung. Just a little but noticeably enough. Draco didn't like it at all.

Then there was Pipsqueak. The foxlet had snapped her jaws closed so that her smile appeared to vanish and had tilted her head backwards to peer up at Harry. Even her wriggling had stopped, her ears drooping slightly. Draco didn't know for sure but she looked… he thought she looked sort of upset.

He wondered why that bothered him so much, too.

Swallowing thickly, Draco cleared his throat and attempted civility. "I'm not… comfortable . With animals."

"No shit," Harry said sarcastically, rolling his eyes. It was as though all of his restraint, the irritation and frustration that he had held at bay for the entire of term, had burst through the floodgates. "I would never have picked that of you."

"No, I mean…" Draco swallowed once more. Merlin, he wished he could just get angry. It was so much easier to face an angry Potter with his own equal level of aggression. Although, when Draco thought about it, he was as often enjoying himself as he was truly angry when he and Harry fought. There was something to be said for that. "I mean I wouldn't know what to do with it. Her. I wouldn't know –"

He was cut off as Harry stepped forwards. As he stepped forwards _very close_ , pushing Draco into the desk behind him, and thrust Pipsqueak out towards him. Draco didn't mean to but his hands rose automatically to catch her. Not that he really needed to, for Pipsqueak latched her little paws onto the front of his robes as though they were fingers and, with a slightly startled " _yip!_ " clung onto him in return. It was startled, though such was rapidly exchanged for delight if the smile she turned up at him and her sudden, bodily wriggling was any indication.

Draco stared down at her. He felt the weight of her in his hands, less than he had expected given her size, which he now suspected to be mostly attributed to her fluffiness. He could feel the softness of her fur – truly, it was more like duck down than fur – and her warmth seeping into his fingers. He was held by her wide gaze and couldn't bring himself to shake his attention loose. It was almost as though he was captivated by her attention and surprisingly, unexpectedly, Draco felt something almost like… it couldn't be but it was _almost_ like… comfort? Comfortable?

"See? That wasn't so hard now, was it?"

Draco struggled to raise his gaze from Pipsqueak. Harry still looked slightly irritated, but appeared to be growing more and more self-satisfied by the second. "Um…" Draco said, a sound that, even when he knew he couldn't have uttered anything else, he was mortified at producing.

Harry only nodded his head as though accepting an intelligible reply. "Come on, then, Draco. We should get to Charms before we're late." Without another word he turned on his heel and strode out of the room.

Draco couldn't help but follow, and not for any particular inclination of his own. He couldn't help it because Harry was still tied to Pipsqueak with the bracelet-and-collar device, and Pipsqueak seemed determined not to release her grasp upon Draco's robes. It was either follow or have himself dragged which, given how humiliating the situation was already, Draco could _certainly_ not abide.

Besides, he didn't particularly feel inclined to simply drop Pipsqueak from where she clung. He wasn't that heartless.

So, ignoring the smirk that Blaise gave him when he followed Harry out of the classroom and the nod of approval from Lovegood, Draco followed in Harry's wake towards Charms. The weight of Pipsqueak in his arms seemed to become oddly lighter with each step.

* * *

A/N: Thank you to the lovely people who have already left a review. If you get a chance, dear reader, please take a second to let me know your thoughts: whether you liked the chapter/story, what you thought of it, if there's something you think you'd like to ask or something to improve upon. As always, stories are a work in progress, so I'd really appreciate the feedback. Thank you and thank you for reading!


	9. Chapter 9 - Camaraderie

**Chapter 9: Camaraderie**

 _Social interactions between foxlet gliders usually primarily involve familial interactions. In most cases, all members of a community will be related in some manner, however distantly. This lessens the degree of antagonism between the individuals, as is often a requisite for when juveniles mature into a Berserker. Though such Berserkers do continue to exhibit aggression towards their kin, it is rarely of a fatalistic variety._

 _Within these groups, however, exclusive friendships will often arise between juveniles or Sedate adults. Commonly, this occurs between those with minimal genetic similarity, as the contrasting characteristics lend themselves to a broader range of shared skills. In particular situations, an empathetic link may arise from such relationships. Such a link will often develop after a catalysing event, which drives the fear, protectiveness, or intensified consideration of one party or the other to an enhanced degree._

* * *

Tod had gotten big. Very big, and in a remarkably short amount of time. According to the books, to what Harry could recall, it was apparently a result of reaching his 'mental maturity' as a Berserker, that he would grow to be distinctly larger than a Sedate foxlet, Harry knew that, but he was still surprised to see that Tod had so quickly grown to the size of an English Setter and was still growing at a rapid rate. He was already nearly double Pipsqueak and Kitsune's size, in muscle as much as sheer height.

As Harry watched, Ron shuffled forwards in his seat on the ground and held out what looked to be a strip of bacon to the foxlet. Tod, snuffling around on the floor of his den with ears curved forwards and turning slightly like little satellite dishes, immediately caught the scent of it and spun towards Ron. With leaps and bounds, he crossed the distance between them and snatched the morsel from Ron's fingers with a sharp snap of his jaws. Harry admired that Ron didn't so much as flinch at the motion; he'd seen how aggressive Tod could get and personally wouldn't have liked to get so close to his fingers. But then, Tod never so much as curled his lip in a snarl at Ron or Ginny, even if a second later he would turn to hiss and spit at just about anyone else.

Ginny, seated at Ron's side, reached a hand out and scratched behind Tod's ear in a practiced gesture. It was as though she knew that he would croon and lean into her fingers and collapse comfortably onto the ground before her which, Harry reasoned, she probably did. It was just like how Harry knew the places that Pips most liked to be scratched.

"If they try and stuff anymore toys into that den then there won't be anywhere for either of them to fit."

Drawing his gaze from Ron and Ginny – they were talking quietly to one another now, in a companionable manner that practically spat in the face of their fight of weeks before – and glanced towards Hermione. She was sitting beside him, shoulders hunched in her jacket and gloved fingers tugging at the edge of her beanie. Her breath plumed whitely before her face and she gave a visible tremble as a gust of chilling wind blew past them. Winter had well and truly set its teeth into Hogwarts, snow already blanketing the undulating grounds and painting the struggling grasses white. Hermione had conjured a waterproof picnic rug for them to sit upon a little way up the hill to watch their two friends as they spent what had become their regular hours in Tod's den.

Harry gave her a small smile, shaking his head as he turned back towards Ron and Ginny. "Well, at least he won't be bored."

"How could he be bored? _I_ wouldn't be bored in there with the amount of enrichment they've spread everywhere. Honestly, is there a need for so many dangling ropes from the roof?"

"You wouldn't be bored? Hermione, there's not a single book in that den."

Hermione gave a small puff of laughter. "Except for when Ginny brings her textbooks in."

"Except then, yeah."

"Don't give her or Ron any ideas. If you mention you read somewhere that foxlet gliders appreciated the presence of books then they'd find a way to move the entire school library down here."

"I've don't doubt it," Harry agreed. It was no secret that, despite the fact that Tod had gone Berserk, that he wouldn't tolerate the approach of anyone but Ron and Ginny closer than twenty paces without growling and snapping at them, they both still obviously doted upon him. "You know Ginny's actually taken to sleeping down here on Saturday nights?"

Hermione blinked, glancing towards Harry with eyebrows raised. "No, I didn't know that."

"Well, she does."

"She told you?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah. But even before that, Neville said he saw her one time when he was coming back from the greenhouse when he was pruning the midnight bloomers a couple of weeks ago."

Hermione frowned. "That can't be healthy for her."

"It's warm in there with the charms they've got installed."

"Yes, but still."

"Can you blame her?" Harry asked, folding his arms across his chest. It really was getting cold outside, especially given the fact that he and Hermione had both been sitting immobile for over an hour already. An hour of just sitting, watching and waiting for Ron and Ginny to spend some mutual time with Tod. It was their way now; they would alternate with one spending an hour or so with him, them both spending just as long in the enclosure with the foxlet together, and then the other taking over the watch. With the exception of classes – of which Ginny in particular had skipped several in favour of spending more time with Tod, much to Hermione's disapproval – they spent most of their time down at the den beside Hagrid's cabin these days. They didn't need to, for since Tod's maturity they hardly needed to be with him anywhere near as much as they once had. Tod loved their company but he evidently didn't _need_ it as much as the two other foxlet's did. It was a product of the maturation process, of his growth towards independence.

Hermione shook her head once more. "No, I don't suppose I can. I'd want to spend as much time down in the den with Kitsune if she was in Tod's place. It just feels wrong to be away from her." She shivered slightly, casting a glance over her shoulder towards the castle that squatted silently and sedately behind them, as though she could see through the walls to where Lavender and their foxlet were still most likely curled before the eighth year common room fire.

Harry hummed in agreement. He was of a like mind in that regard too. It had barely been more than an hour since he'd left Pipsqueak with Draco, since he'd handed over the bracelet and strapped it onto Draco's wrist in an exchange that they were undertaking more and more often of late. Harry found it less distressing for Pips if she didn't accompany him down to see Tod with Ron and Ginny. Even at twenty paces she grew uncomfortable, and Tod seemed to sense her proximity. According to the books, that aversion to other foxlet gliders would lessen over the coming months as Tod settled into his matured state, but for now he was more likely to go for Pipsqueak's throat than exchange a polite word. Or sniff, whatever gliders did to communicate with each other.

It felt uncomfortable being away from Pipsqueak. It was almost painful in some ways. Harry too had found himself glancing over his shoulder towards the school a little longingly on multiple occasions with the urge to rise to his feet and go in search of his little foxlet. He didn't like having her out of his sight, especially after so long of her constant companionship, around his neck when she was small enough and upon his shoulder after that. She was getting a little too big for even that now, but still. It felt like he was missing a limb, just as Draco had said so many weeks ago to McGonagall when he had been contemplating self-expulsion simply to stay with Pipsqueak. He would have done it, too, in a heartbeat. Of course he would. Pips was one of the most important things to him in the world at the moment. She was certainly more important than school.

Harry even felt himself slightly jealous of Draco, despite the fact that he had been the one to encourage him to take her directly from his care. It had been both a frustrating and amusing experience to witness Draco cradling Pipsqueak in his arms for the first time. He'd looked so awkward and just short of terrified.

"It does feel kind of weird not having her around," Harry murmured, drawing his gaze back towards Ron and Ginny. Tod had draped himself momentarily across Ron's lap, only to leap up moments later to spring at something unseeable that could have simply been the shadow of a bird passing overhead. Tod had always been excitable. He seemed only more so now that he'd matured "I kind of miss Pipsqueak when she's with Draco."

"When she's _just_ with Draco," Hermione emphasised. She barely stumbled over using his name anymore, something that she very definitely held over Ron.

Harry spared her a glance. "Hm?"

"When she's _just_ with Draco," she repeated. "Which isn't all that often. You two tend to spend a lot of time together these days, and Draco's only actually taken Pipsqueak from you fully seven times now."

"Only seven?" Harry blinked. It seemed like it was more than that.

Hermione nodded. "I've been counting. It's the only times I've actually seen you away from Draco in the past few months."

Harry cringed guiltily. Had he really been neglecting his friends so much? "Sorry about that. I don't mean to –"

Hermione waved aside his apology with a flap of her hand. She smiled gently when she replied. "I don't have a problem with it, Harry. And, even if he might still object to it, neither does Ron. It was a little strange at first, with Draco and Blaise spending so much time with us, even if they didn't really talk _to_ us, but I've gotten used to it. We both have. And –" She paused abruptly and bit her lip.

Harry cocked his head, raising an eyebrow. "What?"

Peering up at him a little uncertainly, Hermione shrugged. "Nothing, it's just…"

"What?"

"I'm just happy, I guess."

Harry frowned, confused. "Happy about…?"

"You. You seem happier. More yourself, I guess."

Staring at his friend in continued confusion, Harry felt his frown deepen slightly. "What do you mean?"

Sighing, Hermione shook her head. "Only that you were different after the war. We all were – different, I mean – and I know you knew that but I don't think you realised you'd changed too."

Opening his mouth to reply, Harry paused before slowly closing it. He drew his gaze from where it met Hermione's, frowning down at his gloved hands. He'd changed? Had he really? More than that, it had been a noticeable change? He'd seen it in Hermione – she had been more subdued at first before seeming to struggle to resettle herself – and in Ron, who'd been quieter too, more brooding, with a constant, listless pessimism enduring within him for a significant portion of their summer break.

Ginny too had been a little different, almost flighty in her bursts of loudness and then sudden static silences, as though she couldn't seem to decide if she was happy or sad or angry in any one moment. The rest of the Weasleys too, and Harry's old friends from Hogwarts. All of them had changed in different ways, subtle or vast. Even Luna appeared to have altered just a little, if not in so much the same way as everyone else; she seemed to have become more determined, almost more emphatic with her words and opinions, which contrasted so drastically with her otherwise vague, carefree attitude that Harry couldn't help but notice.

In fact, one of the few people who appeared almost unchanged was Draco. When Harry had encountered him in the war, he'd seemed like an almost different person entirely. Harry couldn't blame him for that, had expected it and even anticipated the continuation of such a change when they returned to school and he'd noticed Draco amongst their ranks. At first, his suspicions had seemed correct; that first night Draco had appeared as subdued and retrospective as the rest of Hogwarts' students.

That had rapidly changed. It was true that Draco no longer burst out in shouts of insult or challenge, that he no longer seemed to so actively seek confrontation. But in most other ways he was exactly the same: his snarky, sarcastic remarks, the apparent ease of his studiousness, the tone of his voice when he spoke to Harry that reflected the few times they'd actually spoken without breaking into a fight. All of it, down to the way he held himself, tall and with apparent confidence, the cut of his robes pristine as ever, the perfect styling of his hair and his hooded regard of everyone around him as though they were just a little too far beneath his notice.

And Harry actually liked it. He'd strained to search for the similar, for the familiar, for anything that remained unchanged by the war in both Hogwarts itself and its students and professors. Draco was one of those few that he could rely upon to be unchanged. Not that Harry saw him in exactly the same way, for they certainly treated one another a little differently, but what he learned only seemed to heighten his understanding of Draco Malfoy.

He was a git. He was a bastard. He thought himself above just about everyone around him, with the inclusion of Blaise Zabini who appeared to be the only one of his real friends who had returned to Hogwarts for eighth year. He seemed incapable of speaking to Harry without at least half-heartedly attempting an argument.

But alongside that, Harry learned more of Draco. More than he had ever wanted to learn, let alone expected to. Draco was more bark than bite, and didn't seem particularly inclined to use his wand at all when words could suffice. He seemed to prefer the company of others to solitude to such a degree that, even when Harry wasn't directly in his company, he hardly ever seemed alone. That, and he was just a little bit neurotically egotistical, possessing something of a suspicion that his back was painted with a target. Harry couldn't count the number of times he'd seen Draco glance suspiciously over his shoulder, as though expecting someone to be watching him from behind. It was downright relentless.

He was finicky, pedantic, disliked getting his hands dirty and even carried a handkerchief around with him for the express purpose of cleaning the nib of his quill when it got too clotted. And yet for some unknown reason, much to his evident disgruntlement, Draco seemed fond of Pipsqueak. He didn't even put up a fight anymore when Harry suggested Pips sit in his lap, even if he did regard Harry flatly, almost accusingly, as though he were at fault for suggesting that he have to touch the foxlet at all. Even so, Harry had seen him idly petting Pipsqueak as he concentrated upon a book settled open before him. It looked entirely natural, even if it had been a little slow in coming.

The more time Harry spent with Draco, the more he learned. He wasn't looking to learn but just seemed to pick up little things anyway. Each aspect seemed to fit his character though on a deeper level than Harry had suspected Draco ever capable of possessing. It was comforting in its own way, that though his understanding of Draco might have changed, the person who his past-rival had once been was, by and large, much the same.

Unlike Harry himself, apparently. How had he even changed? He hadn't noticed. "Sorry about that," he muttered to Hermione.

Hermione frowned. "What are you apologising for?"

Harry shrugged. "That I've changed, I guess."

"You shouldn't apologise for that, Harry. We all have. It's not like any of us can help it."

"Still, I shouldn't be – I don't know, abandoning you guys so much. I don't mean to. It's just with Pips and all…"

Hermione nodded, offering a sympathetic smile. "I know. And it's alright. Really. I understand that it must be hard for you, with Ron and me being together and all. We both really appreciate how good you're being about it all, Harry."

Harry peered up at his friend warily. He wasn't quite sure what to make of her words, not to mention the fact that talking about them being together, even acknowledged as it had been for months, still made him slightly uncomfortable. Not that they were together, but that it was _they_ who were together. Harry's two best friends, the first friends he'd ever had and who had become more like a brother and sister to him. It made him feel strange, uncomfortable, and just a little lonely.

"It's… fine? I guess?" He offered awkwardly.

Hermione's smile only widened and Harry saw that she understood from where his awkwardness had arisen. "Thanks, Harry. Really." Then she seemed to deliberately place the topic aside, drawing her gaze back down the hill towards Ron, Ginny and Tod. "But really, I can understand you wanting to spend so much time with Pipsqueak, even if it does mean you have to be around Draco more. I feel the same with Kitsune and Lavender, to be honest."

Harry nodded, then frowned thoughtfully. "I never really understood that, though."

"What?"

"You and Lavender. Why it was her that Kitsune chose as her second bond-parent. I thought maybe it might have been because of, you know, Ron and everything, but you don't seem to… I mean, neither you or Lavender seem to…" He trailed off, hunching his shoulders slightly as his awkwardness returned for an entirely different reason. "Sorry."

Hermione smiled, shrugging off the apology. "It's alright. I guess it's natural to wonder." Then she took a deep breath, letting it out in a sigh. "I think it was me who drove Kitsune to bonding with Lavender. Not because of Ron, or our past – we were never close, and any antagonism we shared just seemed to become slightly less favourable regard for one another after she broke up with Ron. Or at least, that was how it was in the few months before the holidays. I guess if I was to put a finger on the reason, it would be because I felt guilty." She paused, then nodded to herself. "Yes, I think it was probably my guilt that drove the bond."

"Guilty?" Harry turned fully towards Hermione once more, blinking in confusion. "Why would you feel guilty?"

Hermione shifted slightly in her seat, dropping her gaze to her lap. "I guess because I never really liked her, but then after what happened with her and Fenrir Greyback…" She shook her head. "We saw it happen. All of it, from him attacking her and then afterwards when she was just lying there. And we had to just leave her, not even knowing if she was dead or alive."

"That wasn't your fault, Hermione," Harry rationalised, reaching a hand towards her shoulder and squeezing gently. "It wasn't any of our faults."

"I know," Hermione sighed. "But I still feel almost as though – I don't know, that maybe I didn't act so fast because… because I didn't…"

"Because you didn't what?"

"Because I didn't like her," Hermione finished, her voice warbling slightly. Harry thought he saw a touch of tears in her eyes but she blinked them away furiously before he could be sure. "I feel like maybe we only helped her so late because I didn't want to do it any faster –"

"Stop," Harry interrupted her. The sharpness of his voice caused his friend to flinch slightly, so he eased his hand from her shoulder to hug her in a half-embrace instead. "That wasn't your fault, Hermione. Not even a little bit. You did as much as you could do and more. In fact, Lavender probably owes her life as much to you as anyone. You can't take the blame for everything that happened to everyone in the war."

Hermione sniffed slightly, wiping her nose with a gloved hand. When she turned to peer up at Harry, her eyes were still slightly glassy but she no longer appeared on the verge of crying. "You too, Harry."

"Hm?"

"You too. You can't take the blame for everything either, you know." Hermione's arm wrapped around Harry's waist to hug him in return. "You saved the world, you know that? And I know you feel guilty too, but you couldn't have done any more. Just as you said, none of us could."

Harry meet Hermione's eyes for a moment longer before he had to draw his own away. He couldn't help himself; there was such earnestness, such compassion in radiating from her that it made him feel as guilty as Hermione was herself professing she was. Still, he couldn't help but express his gratitude, even if his attention was focused upon Tod's den once more. "Thanks, Hermione."

"Any time, Harry."

They sat in silence for a time, the warmth of shared body heat helping to stave off the chill. Long enough for Harry to stare at Ron and Ginny and deduce that they would make the most of the weekend and weren't going to leave Tod any time soon. It wouldn't be the first time he'd left his friend in the den and not seen him until dinnertime. "You know, I think I might head on back inside."

At his side, Hermione nodded her agreement. "I think you might have the right idea."

"They're not going to finish up any time soon."

"And it's freezing."

"And I have to rescue Pips from Draco."

Hermione flashed Harry a grin, dissolving the last of their dark moods. "And just who are you rescuing her for, exactly? Draco, Pipsqueak or you?"

Harry grinned, heaving himself to his feet and offering a hand to Hermione to pull her up after him. "All three, I guess."

They paused a moment to call farewell to Ron and Ginny, Ron of whom offered a slightly sheepish apology that both Harry and Hermione brushed aside. It wouldn't make the slightest difference anyway; Ron wouldn't leave, regardless of how apologetic he felt. Then Hermione linked her arm through Harry's and they set off back towards the school.

The walk was silent for the most part, broken only by their puffing as they climbed the hill back up to the front entrance. Hermione paused just inside the door to the Entrance Hall, however, and with an exhalation that was more like a sigh than a pant of exertion, scrubbed the back of her hand over her brow before removing her gloves.

"You alright?" Harry asked, feeling a return of the sombre mood in her expression.

Hermione attempted to offer him smile that fell a little short. "Yeah, just… it's coming up to Christmas. I guess I'm just worried."

Harry nodded his understanding. Hermione still had her plans to go to Australia in place and she had been growing more and more nervous in the weeks leading up to their holidays. "It'll be alright, Hermione. You know that right."

Hermione's brow crinkled for a moment before she heaved another sigh and nodded. "Yeah, I know. It – it will be. They'll be fine. I'll – I'm sure I'll be able to restore Mum and Dad's memories to them."

Harry wrapped an arm around her shoulder once more, squeezing her in a slight jostle. "If anyone could it would be you. You're not universally acknowledged as being the brightest witch of your age for no reason."

Hermione smiled something bordering on genuine at his words. "I'm pretty sure you and Ron are the only ones who call me that these days."

"Not the only ones thinking it, though."

Her smile widened. "Thanks, Harry."

"No problem."

"I'm just…"

Harry, his arm dropping and already taking a step towards the stairwell that would lead towards the eighth year tower, paused and glanced back towards Hermione. "What? What's wrong?"

For the third time in as many minutes, Hermione heaved a sigh. "I guess I'm a little worried about going from the perspective of this end, too."

"Meaning?"

"Kitsune."

Harry understood immediately. Hermione would be gone for at least a week and it wasn't like she could bring Kitsune with her when she went abroad. Which meant that Lavender would be left with her, to care for her by herself. That in itself wasn't so bad, for Kitsune was hardly a handful to manage, but there was the little problem of maturity. Or of potential maturity.

Harry had considered the same thing himself on numerous occasions. He'd said he was going to accompany Hermione, but that was before Pipsqueak and the bond, before they'd seen the evidence of what could happen if the foxlets were distressed or left alone. Granted, that wasn't what had urged Tod into becoming a Berserker, by the result was still the same. It made Harry sick to consider the possibility of Pipsqueak becoming like _that_. It was a natural state, he knew, that in the wild foxlet gliders had indeed matured into Berserkers with the same process as those into Sedates, but he didn't have to like it. He didn't have to like the thought of _Pips_ becoming like that.

Harry knew he should go with Hermione. He'd promised. But he also knew that he really, really didn't want to leave Pipsqueak. Not even with Draco being a little less of an aversive git.

"I get it," he muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets. He'd meant to talk to Hermione about the situation before now, what with the holidays were barely days away, but the time had never seemed right. No, Harry had been _avoiding_ it, he knew. Foolishly, sheepishly, but very definitely avoiding it. "I'm the same."

Hermione peered up at him with an unreadable expression for a moment before offering Harry a small smile. "You're not coming, you know."

Harry blinked. "What?"

"You. You're not coming with me. You've got to stay at Hogwarts with Pipsqueak. I'm sure it would be better for the both of you."

Harry stared at Hermione. He stared and tried to suppress the flood of relief that welled within him, that he didn't have to bring up the conversation, didn't have to be the one to make the suggestion, to ask the question. Hermione had given him permission, which might sound pathetic to anyone else but instead only caused Harry to sag slightly at the offer. Only to subsequently feel guilty, because what kind of a friend was he that he wouldn't come with Hermione to see her parents?

"Hermione," he began.

"Harry," she cut him off, her voice suddenly stern. The regret and sorrow that had been touching her face before had lifted to be replaced by her usual stubbornness. Others might call Hermione bossy, and they would be mostly right, but only Harry and Ron truly understood that such bossiness arose from her sheer determination, a well of opinions and of her mulish stubbornness. "Don't argue with me on this one. I don't want you to come."

"Ouch, Hermione."

"I didn't mean it like that. I meant you need to be here with Pipsqueak. Just as I do for Kitsune – which I would be in any other situation. But just in this case…" She trailed off regretfully, biting her lip once more, before she seemed to make a deliberate attempt to thrust her concerns aside. "I have to go and see my parents. I have to, even if it is poor timing. And even if Kitsune… even if she needs me, I can _hope_ that Lavender will look after her. That she'll be okay. That she won't, you know…"

"Mature?" Harry offered the euphemism.

Hermione nodded fervently. "Exactly. But _you_ don't. And Harry, I think it would be better if you stayed here. With Pipsqueak."

Something in Harry had already accepted that he would be staying – gratefully accepted – but he still couldn't help but argue. "But I'm supposed to go with you."

Hermione shook her head. "You need to be here, Harry. Pipsqueak is good for you, probably in a way outside of how Kitsune is good for me, or Tod for Ron. You _need_ to be here. And besides," she shrugged easily, flashing him a smile. "I'll have Ron with me. Tod doesn't need him so much anymore and he'll miss him but they'll be alright with just Ginny here. And maybe Hagrid will come too. It's not like I'll be going alone."

"I should still be going with you," Harry muttered, turning his gaze down to his toes as he kicked them idly against the stone floor.

"Maybe if we were in different circumstances," Hermione replied, stepping forwards to link her arm through Harry's once more. "Right now, you can stay here with Pipsqueak and try to help out Lavender for me. Could you?"

Harry turned his gaze towards Hermione as they set off towards the stairwell once more. "Of course I will. Or at least I'll try. I'm not sure how much good I'll be – you know foxlet's don't really like anyone but their own bond-parents."

"I do," Hermione nodded. "But it would be reassuring just knowing there was an extra pair of hands around, just in case." There was hope in Hermione's voice but also a touch of resignation. Harry wondered if she'd perhaps accepted the possibility of Kitsune becoming going Berserk in her absence.

He didn't suggest as much, however, didn't voice his suspicions aloud. Instead, Harry tightened his arm through Hermione's and tugged them into a faster step. "Alright, then. How about we make the most of the time you have left to spend with Kitsune before you go? Give her a hug and a kiss and send her off to bed and all that."

Hermione laughed. "You sound like you're talking about my kid or something."

"I've had that said of me before. Can't say I'm particularly disinclined to agree. It does feel like that sometimes, doesn't it?"

Hermione nodded, smiling. "That it does. Come on, then. Let's go and rescue our kids."

With a shared chuckle, they set off at a quick step that actually became a run after several corridors, making for the eighth year tower.

* * *

Draco frowned at his textbook. Not because of the words that were written there but because of the one nattering in his ear from beside him, chattering away as though whatever he actually said had any real purpose.

"… don't consider the logistics of it, you know? It's the banter and the exchanges that go on while your playing the game that matter as much as the actual game itself."

Draco rolled his eyes at Blaise's words. He'd been talking for nearly five minutes straight now, and Draco could only be thankful that it wasn't to him that he was speaking. Luna was good for that much, at least.

"What's the primary topic of conversation, then? Do you speak of politics? Academics? Do you exchange family recipes?"

From the corner of his eye, Draco caught sight of Blaise shaking his head, though in approval rather than denial. "That and more. My family are chronic tic-tackers, but then most the banter consists of attempts to shatter your opponent's poker faces."

"Tic-tacking?" Luna asked. Draco could picture the furrow in her brow without having to look at her. "What's that?"

"It's sort of like communicating non-verbally with one's partner," Blaise explained.

"No, it's cheating," Draco corrected.

Blaise spared him a long-suffering sigh. "Look, if you're going to contribute to the conversation, at least make it productive contribution."

"My definition was productive. It was disproving your euphemism."

"Unnecessarily."

"Very necessarily. You've a twisted tongue, Zabini, and you know it." Turning the page of his textbook, Draco deliberately tilted his head away from Blaise. "Are you ever actually going to get around to playing a game of Scopa or are you just going to discuss it for the rest of the day?"

Blaise clicked his tongue. "You can't play Scopa with only two people."

"I'd wager you could manage."

"It would be better if we had even one more person."

"What a shame it is that you don't," Draco replied, not even glancing up from his book. His other hand stroked along the ridged spine of Pipsqueak's back where she curled in his lap. "Besides, I'm busy babysitting."

"Oh, because you couldn't do that while playing a round of Scopa?"

"I'm studying too."

"But Draco, you haven't read anything for the past ten minutes."

Draco lifted his chin to glare at Luna who, naturally, appeared completely unaffected by his accusing gaze. Blaise visibly fought to suppress a smirk at her words, not appearing in the least apologetic for siding against Draco. "Why are you even here? This is the eighth year common room."

"Blasé invited me," Luna replied, shuffling the pack of cards she'd acquired from Blaise some minutes before with a remarkably dextrous hand. The cards flipped and leapt between her fingers in elaborate twirls that she somehow managed to catch rather than drop.

Draco drew his gaze to Blaise who appeared nothing if not proudly satisfied with Luna's words. "Why would you do that?"

"Invite Loony into our tower?"

"Why do you do this to me?"

"Look, _I_ happen to enjoy her company. If you have a problem, you can just bugger off."

"I've tried," Draco grumbled, which was entirely true. He'd tried on multiple occasion, only for Blaise and Luna to drift after him like shadows that didn't even appear to realise what they were doing and seat themselves alongside him. Blaise seemed to have overlooked that fact.

Ignoring the reply that Blaise offered him – a pointed reply that Draco did _not_ care to hear – he turned back to his textbook. Unfortunately Luna had been correct in one regard at least; Draco hadn't read anything for the past five minutes or so, and he really should, despite the fact that he knew he was ahead in his readings. Of course he knew, and even if he forgot, Blaise took pains to remind him.

 _"Given that the definition of transmutation reflects the conversion of matter from one state to another, it may be considered more appropriate to refer to modern transfiguration processes by such a term. However, this would overlook the consideration of the spiritual or psychological transformation entailed, as would occur in organic, sentient or semi-sentient matter…_ "

 _Merlin, how dry_ , Draco thought, shaking his head. It was all textbook definition, hashing out the nitty-gritty of that which would likely arise in an exam, but that didn't make it any easier to read. It was really no wonder Draco was distracted by Blaise's inane chatter as to the nature of his favourite card game.

Just as it was no wonder that, when Pipsqueak abruptly sat up in his lap, ears pricking and spinning her head towards the entrance of the tower, Draco too lifted his gaze. He knew what the foxlet's sudden attentiveness entailed, and Draco couldn't help but feel his own drawn in a similar direction.

He and Pipsqueak had grown to friendly terms over the past weeks. Terms that, Draco had to admit, he wasn't really all that averse to evolving. He'd known he'd liked the little creature – little creature who was almost too big to fit on his lap anymore – even before he had held her for the first time, but since Harry had forcibly thrust her upon him it had been different. There was the physical attachment now, too. Draco _wanted_ to be around Pipsqueak.

How horrifying. Of course, he could never admit as much, even if Blaise had made speculations to the fact already on numerous occasions.

Draco found that he actually liked the foxlet. Pipsqueak was quiet but for the occasional yips and the purring noises that were actually strangely soothing as they vibrated through Draco's legs in her doze. She was soft and warm, and she blessedly didn't shed, something that Draco personally was unerringly grateful for. More than that, however, even more importantly, was that she was intelligent.

Draco had ridiculed Harry over his suggestion that Pipsqueak understood his words and what he was saying. Now, he couldn't help but agree, at least in the privacy of his own mind. There was definitely intelligence in her wide, black eyes, eyes that more often than not Draco found settled upon him and simply watching attentively. Not in a creepy way, but just… watching. Studying. As though she were learning simply by observing Draco's gestures, which he suspected she sort of did. She seemed to know when Draco shifted because she was sitting in an uncomfortable position upon his lap and adjusted herself accordingly. She seemed to sense when he was getting frustrated and for no apparent reason would set about purring until, somehow, that frustration seemed to magically ease. She even, when the scarce occasion arose, understood when Draco needed her to just _get off his lap_ for a minute or two, just so that he could recover from his bout of too much creature-intimacy, and would remove herself from such contact to simply sit at his side, ears pricked and looking up at him silently, watchfully.

Draco never could maintain such distance for long, however, not under such attentive adoration. He'd always been one who loved being adored. Draco usually picked the foxlet back up and placed her back into his lap moments later, unable to suppress a small smile as she uttered a squeak and wriggled in delight before settling herself into stillness once more. Such instances of necessary distancing had become less frequent of late.

And just as Pipsqueak seemed to be somehow learning Draco's quirks, he was slowly picking up hers, too. Like how she seemed to melt beneath a scratch just between the two black lines leading down from her forehead – a fact he'd actually noticed from Harry and adopted for himself. Or that she seemed to lean more towards an omnivorous or even carnivorous diet except when it came to treacle tart, a fact he also suspected arose from Harry. Or that when she pricked up her ears like she had just then, turning towards the entrance with her three tails swishing in a jumble of wags, it meant that Harry was but seconds away from stepping through the doorway.

Which, barely a minute later, he did.

Pipsqueak loosed a delighted squeal of " _eeee_ - _yip-yip-yip!_ " and bodily flung herself from Draco's lap. Unfortunately for Draco, they were still attached collar to bracelet, so he was dragged along with her. Intelligent Pipsqueak may be, but that particular feature was evidently something that she had yet to realise just yet. Or perhaps she just didn't care.

The foxlet leapt onto the table, bounding across the desk and tugging Draco to his feet behind her. When she reached the edge of the desk, it was to leap with greater height, splaying her arms and legs wide, and gliding across the room like a kite. Draco was nearly tripping in an attempt not to be dragged when she latched herself onto Harry's arms. Harry himself, barely through the doorway, uttered a faint "oomph! _"_ when she crashed into him. She really was getting nearly too big for such things.

"Hey, you," Harry said, eyes immediately seeing only Pipsqueak. His bright, lopsided smile spread across his face. "Did you miss me?"

To Pipsqueak's chittering yips that sounded very much like a reply, Draco straightened himself and began unlatching the bracelet from his wrist. Such was always the way, that he would hand both chain and foxlet back to Harry as soon as he returned. Pipsqueak adored Harry even more than she did Draco and always locked onto him the moment he returned.

Draco tried not to be jealous of that fact. He wasn't. Not really. Harry had been with her longer, more often, cared for her more. It would be natural for Pipsqueak to like him more.

Stupid foxlet.

"You've only been gone for, what, two hours?" Draco drawled, holding out the bracelet to Harry.

Harry finally glanced up to him, his crooked grin spreading across his face in a different sort of way that was distinctly teasing. "What's this, Draco? You're so happy to see me back that you ran all the way to the entrance?"

"That joke doesn't get any funnier the more times you tell it," Draco muttered. When Harry held out his hand, he obediently snapped the bracelet back on to his wrist. It wasn't so much because he felt he should be the one to do it for him but because he literally couldn't get it to unstick from his own fingers unless he did so. It was part of the charm.

Harry's grin widened at his words. "Maybe not to you." Then he turned back to Pipsqueak, hefting her higher in his arms. "My Pips, I think you are almost getting too big to sit on my shoulder."

Pipsqueak's yip was accompanied by a little grumble as if in disagreement, and she even went so far as to shake her head in a sharp jerk. Harry only laughed. He always seemed in a good mood when he came back from his visits down to see the Weasley foxlet. "Alright, then. Might as well make the most of it when you're still just small enough." And with another "oomph", he raised Pipsqueak to his shoulder. She immediately clambered up the rest of the way herself, crouching onto her haunches with tails trailing down Harry's back in a way that should have been precarious but with Pipsqueak's balance simply wasn't. Her whole head and most of her shoulders reached above Harry's head now.

Across the room from behind him, Draco could make out the sounds of Granger as she hastened to Brown's side. No, not Granger. It was Hermione and Lavender now; he was _supposed_ to call them by their first names, even if doing so did leave a faintly bitter taste on his tongue. He'd promised Harry that he would try for Salazar only knew what reason. Between the two girls, white foxlet had set about yapping in near hysterics, much to both Hermione's and Lavender's audible amusement and affection. Draco even heard a laugh that sounded very much like that which Harry had uttered moments before echo from behind him.

He ignored them. Draco might have to call them by their names now, but that didn't mean he had to observe their antics. Instead, he folded his arms across his chest and cleared his throat to draw Harry's attention from where he was bopping Pipsqueak upon her nose. The foxlet actually appeared to be uttering giggles of a sort with every touch. "You're back for the rest of the day, aren't you? You'll take Pipsqueak?"

"Of course," Harry said without glancing in Draco's direction. Draco fought the urge to frown at that.

"Good. I've got homework to do, then," he replied and turned upon his heel to make his way back across the room to his desk once more. Blaise and Luna were still sitting there and Blaise had actually alleviated the cards from Luna's grasp to deal out a round.

"Oh, because Pipsqueak makes it so hard to study," Harry said, following after him. Once more there was a note of teasing more than simply sarcasm in his voice. "What with her sitting there still and quiet, being so disruptive and everything."

"Shut up, Potter," Draco replied, but even he had to admit that there wasn't all that much sting to his words. It was hard to embed as much into his voice when Harry so clearly didn't feel inclined.

"Hey, Draco."

Pausing in step, because something in Harry's tone had become suddenly serious, Draco glanced over his shoulder. "What?"

Harry quirked his lips, pursing them thoughtfully. Draco had to shake his attention from the expression to concentrate on his words when he spoke. "Just a thought. What are you doing for Christmas?"

Draco was immediately suspicious. He frowned. "Why?"

"For God's sake, don't get all defensive. I was just asking. To work out what to do with Pipsqueak."

"You're not taking off somewhere, are you?" Draco asked. He tried to keep his sudden concern from his tone. Pipsqueak was indeed far from difficult to care for, but Harry wasn't going to just bugger off to the other side of the world or something, was he? He was supposed to look after the foxlet. It was _his_ job more than Draco's, and Draco couldn't… he couldn't just… Harry surely wouldn't just up and _leave,_ would he?

His sudden onslaught of fear was brushed aside almost as quickly as it arose, however, when Harry shook his head. "No, I'm not going anywhere. I just wondered if maybe you might have been going home." He shrugged awkwardly. "It's just that Pipsqueak would probably want to see you, is all, so if you were… I mean, if you wouldn't mind if I just came for a visit or something maybe a couple of times?"

Draco turned slowly to more fully face Harry. He blinked. That was… unexpected. Both Harry's demeanour, almost bashful as he scratched awkwardly at the side of his head, and the words themselves. Harry was offering, what, to actually come to Malfoy Manor if Draco was there? He'd be prepared to do that, after everything that had happened there? Draco was under no allusions; his own memories from the previous year at the Manor weren't favourable, and Harry's would likely be just as bad, if somewhat less extensive. But he would do that? For Draco?

 _No, for Pipsqueak_ , Draco corrected himself. _Idiot_.

Shaking his head less in denial and more to clear it of the strange satisfaction, of the… what was that? Something else that Draco couldn't identify, he spoke. "No, I'm staying at school." He didn't elaborate, that he didn't particularly want to leave school or visit his house that was no longer a home, even if his mother was still there and he wanted to see her.

Harry gave a small sigh and the tension Draco hadn't even noticed was there seemed to ease from his shoulders. "That's good. Thanks. I mean, that's good, 'cause it would be easier to work around Pipsqueak and all."

"Of course. That makes sense."

"Much easier if we're both at Hogwarts."

"Far easier."

"Great."

They fell into momentary silence, staring at one other. Draco found himself struggling to fathom what it was that had arisen at Harry's words – really, what was that? – while Harry seemed to be studying him searchingly in return from behind the messy tresses of his fringe. His hand drifted up to touch at Pipsqueak's head, scratching gently, and the foxlet gave a soft " _yip_ ", her own gaze drifting between the both of them.

Harry had just opened his mouth to speak, to say something, when Blaise – fucking Blaise – interrupted them with a call. "Oh, Harry! Wonderful. Come and join us for a game."

Whatever Harry had been about to say appeared to evaporate from his tongue as he shifted his attention over Draco's shoulder towards Blaise. Draco felt himself scowl. He didn't know why he cared so much for Harry's unspoken words, only that he did. He turned his scowl over his shoulder to Blaise, who he _knew_ saw and registered it and only smirked in reply.

"What are you playing?" Harry asked.

"Scopa."

"Never heard of it."

"Don't worry, Harry, I'd never heard of it either," Luna offered, smiling vaguely towards him. "It's fairly simple though."

Blaise reached towards her and tapped a finger to her temple in a strangely intimate gesture that didn't appear to faze either of them. But then, that was just how Blaise and Luna were, Draco supposed. "How do you know that when we haven't even played yet?"

"Just a guess. And besides, I'm good at games."

"Are you now?" Blaise said, and there was definite challenge in his voice. Then he turned back towards Harry and Draco. "What do you say? Up for it?"

Harry shrugged, jiggling Pipsqueak slightly on her perch. "Sure, why not. Draco?"

Draco didn't want to play Blaise's stupid game. He _hated_ playing Scopa against Blaise. Besides, he really should have been doing his homework. He'd hardly gotten anything done all day and it was nearing lunchtime. But before Harry's expectant stare, he felt his objections died on his tongue. Sighing, he nodded. "Alright. Just one game, though."

This time, when Harry smiled at Draco, it felt like it was actually for him. As Draco allowed Harry to pass him, falling into step in his wake and proceeding to seat himself at the table before the spread of cards, he understood the feeling that had arisen before.

 _Oh shit._


	10. Chapter 10 - Christmas Crises

**Chapter 10: Christmas Crises  
**

 _Physical development, alongside social development, is one of the areas of growth most pronounced in juveniles. In the pre-adult phase, foxlet gliders will often exhibit a pronounced tendency towards playfulness, both solitary and alongside others. This not only develops gross and fine motor skills but promotes the growth of social competency. One area in particular that is encouraged by bond-parents – often in sidelong flight from middling treetop heights – is the coordination of soaring mechanisms, the development of balance and the strength of limbs to appropriately achieve gliding. Such a step in physical development cannot truly be attempted to a significant degree until the juvenile demonstrates an approach to maturity, but is one of the key areas of exploration for young foxlet gliders._

* * *

Draco was yawning before he was even fully awake. Yawning with arms rising automatically overhead in a stretch as they always did as he first woke. The curtained-off enclosure of his bed was utterly silent, dark but for the faintest touch of greyness seeping in from some unseen _source,_ and deliciously warm. Draco could have stayed in bed forever.

Except that it was Christmas. No one in their right mind would spend Christmas in bed.

It wouldn't be the same that year, Draco knew. He wouldn't wake to his mother and father calmly sipping their morning tea in the parlour, to the smell of waffles and pancakes and bacon and eggs, to falling upon the piles of presents afforded him by family and friends. He wouldn't be seeing any of those friends that Christmas either, not even Blaise who had gone home to visit his mother for the holidays. That fact actually saddened Draco a little.

But it was better than last year. Last year's Christmas had passed entirely unnoticed. Draco hadn't even realised it was Christmas day until the evening when his mother had finally approached him in privacy for the first time that day and offered him a small boxed gift. It held a ring, one that had been passed down through the Malfoy family for generations and that his father couldn't give him that day because he couldn't slip away from the Dark Lord and his Death Eater's notice for long enough to do so. That ring was a priceless heirloom and not only for its antiquity; it had a sea of protective charms linked to it, new charms added with each re-gifting, and would serve to offer just a little more defence than a witch or wizard was otherwise capable of maintaining for themselves.

Draco had given the ring back to his father the day he went to Azkaban. It was the only thing of his owned that Lucius Malfoy had been allowed to bring with into imprisonment, and only allowed after a rigorous study for traps and escaping charms.

No, today wouldn't be like most of the Christmases that Draco had enjoyed in his life, but it would certainly be better than that of the previous year. Besides, he might not be seeing his mother but it wasn't like he would be alone. Not really. Not with two specific constant companions who would most definitely be spending the day at his side. Draco found he wasn't even really disgruntled by that fact.

At the thought, he pushed himself into sitting and swept the curtains aside on his bed. Drawing himself from the warmth, he padded around to his trunk and began his usual morning routine of pulling towel and casual wear from within. It might be Christmas but anyone with any sense of propriety would ensure they changed from their pyjamas before facing even their friends and family. As he did so, Draco couldn't help but glance across the room.

It was largely empty. There were only three eighth year boys remaining over the Christmas holidays with only an additional two girls. Longbottom's bed was still closeted with curtains drawn, whereas Harry's…

Harry's was empty. It looked so dark and still, so abandoned, that Draco half wondered if he'd slept in his bed the previous night at all. He shook his head. Harry had a strange tendency of waking ridiculously early. Draco had never once that entire year awoken before him, and he didn't consider himself an especially lazy person, even if he did like his sleep-ins on occasion. Staring for perhaps a moment longer than was necessary, Draco shook his head and made his silent way to the adjoining showers.

Harry. Harry Potter. Draco had thought more than a little about him over the past few days. More so since the holidays had begun and they'd spent almost exclusive time together with only the addition of Lavender, Ginny or Longbottom for accompaniment. Megan Jones, the only other eighth year remaining at the school, spent the majority of her time with Professor Jones, reportedly accompanied by her fifth year younger sister if Ginny's verbalised observations were anything to go by.

Draco didn't care about Jones. About any of the Jones', for that matter. He didn't really care what Ginny had to say, or that she and Lavender appeared to simply drift into his and Harry's vicinity more often than not, as though magnetically drawn. Draco hardly spared a second thought for either of the girls, because the majority of his thought processes was consumed by Harry and Pipsqueak. Mostly Harry, Draco acknowledged with a mental wince. Mostly Harry because horrifyingly, astoundingly, unfathomably, Draco had realised that somewhere along the way he had come to fancy him.

Draco Malfoy fancied Harry Potter. Merlin, Draco's father would have a heart attack if he knew.

Draco didn't know how it had happened. He didn't even know when it had happened. At what point in their antagonistic relationship had something in his head flipped a switch and decided that no, Draco did not in fact dislike Harry but rather found him more than a little attractive, and amusing, and smarter than he'd expected, and nowhere near as annoying – though admittedly he was still annoying. The prat.

When had that happened?

Draco didn't know exactly, but after his revelation over a week ago he could hardly deny the truth of the matter. He fancied Harry, and the more he thought about it the more he realised it to be true. Each aspect that he had _thought_ had merely annoyed him hadn't invoked annoyance so much as undue attentiveness. Draco liked his smile, even more when that smile was sparingly turned upon him. He liked the messy flop of his hair that incessantly draped across his forehead and half obscured his eyes, the casualness of his dress, the equal casualness in which he held himself as though he didn't truly care what other's thought of his appearance in the slightest. He liked the way that Harry pursed his lips and frowned slightly when he was being particularly thoughtful, or how he spoke to Pipsqueak as though she could understand his every word. Harry had a sarcasm and wit that Draco had never considered him capable of possessing to such a degree and he liked that too, just as much as he realised he _sorely_ liked it when they argued.

Draco had always loved arguing, loved fighting, even, and especially liked doing so with Harry because he gave as good as he got and never backed down. That love took on a whole new meaning when Draco reconsidered his circumstances from an alternative perspective. Unfortunately, even in knowing that, Draco had absolutely no idea what to do about it.

Malfoys got what they wanted. That was the way of the world. They _always_ got what they wanted, whether by demand, request or underhanded means. Draco was the same as all of his predecessors. Did that make him spoilt? Perhaps, but he knew he was entitled because he _wanted_. In fact, the few things that Draco hadn't really obtained that he wanted had basically bottled down to… Harry.

Harry hadn't taken his offer of friendship when he'd demanded – no, _offered_ it in first year.

Harry hadn't let him ridicule him to soothe his stung pride without retaliating to an equal degree.

He didn't cave before a challenge, approaching every spontaneous duel head on, every verbal fight as though he was entirely invested in it. He didn't simply 'give in' and though Draco had grumbled and hissed for that fact, at the time he'd known it had satisfied him. There was nothing quite like a good, solid fight to put one to sleep at night. Draco had found himself seeking Harry out on multiple occasions just to vent when he found himself frustrated about something.

Frustrated. Merlin, that term certainly assumed entirely different connotations now.

Draco pondered his dilemma in the shower for longer than he perhaps should have. Not that he didn't always take long showers, but this one was exceptionally so. When he stepped out, began dressing himself before the mirror, he paused for a moment and studied himself in the unfogged surface – because of course it was unfogged. How cheap would Hogwarts have to be not to get Demisting mirrors?

Draco knew he was attractive. He knew it in an objective way as much as he did with a touch of pride and arrogance. He'd always been confident in his body, but as he looked at himself in the mirror he couldn't help but frown. For regardless of how fine a specimen he might consider himself, he didn't know if Harry found him attractive. He didn't know if Harry had even considered the possibility of fancying boys, which was a somewhat depressing thought. He knew that Muggles were backwards in their approach to such relationships, but surely Harry wouldn't be averse to trying, would he?

Draco didn't much like the thought of Harry dating anyone else, and such consideration had found him glaring at Ginny Weasley at several instances over the past few days. He couldn't help himself. His only saving grace was that they weren't dating at the moment. Thank Merlin, for otherwise Draco feared he might have to kill the girl and that might anger some people a little bit. Harry most notably.

Shaking his head, Draco drew his attention from his reflection and dressed himself. It wasn't like he could do anything about his physical appearance, or at least nothing more than what he already had. If he was going to attract Harry's attention then it would have to be through verbal and emotional means. The thought made Draco slightly nauseous to consider; he'd never been on the end of trying to deliberately attract the attention of someone else before, but that was certainly where he sat now.

It was hard. It was _very_ hard. Draco had to try and be _nice_ , not as objectionable and even attempt cordiality with Harry's friends in his efforts. It was so _hard_ ; thank Salazar that the worst of them had left for the Christmas holidays. Draco didn't realise how often he addressed Harry with sarcasm and jibing criticisms, complimenting only in subtle and backhanded ways. How did anyone talk to someone else when they weren't speaking as such?

With a heavy sigh, Draco schooled his features, set his shoulders and strode from the showers. It was a struggle at times interacting with Harry – or at least it had been for the first day or two after his realisation in which Draco knew Harry had been confused and sceptical of his behaviour – but he was getting better. He would make Harry notice him in a decidedly different way to how he did now. He would, regardless of how utterly, pathetically foolish such a sentiment might seem.

Rivals? Enemies? They may have been once. Draco almost wished that they still were, for it would certainly make things easier. Sometimes the only way to overcome a flurry of attraction was to battle it out. It would be _such_ a relief just to relieve some of his frustrations with a good, fierce duel.

Draco stopped only briefly to drop off his towel beside his bed before leaving the dormitory to descend towards the common room. It nearly eight in the morning, he'd checked, but the eighth year tower was largely quiet. Or at least it was until Draco stepped out into the openness of the common room.

"See, now, if you touch it like – yeah, like that, then it will run away. It gets harder the faster you manage to catch it, see. I can put it on a flying mode if we end up going outside into the edges of the forest if you'd like and you can practice your gliding. Sort of cool, hm?"

Draco stopped at the top of the steps and peered over the bannister. Below him, alongside the towering Christmas tree with a modest collection of presents beneath, Harry sat cross-legged beside Pipsqueak who – no, not beside Pipsqueak, for one moment the foxlet was spilling from in his lap, the next springing across the room in pursuit of some unseeable object with a series of excited yips. When she made a dive for one of the couches, actually jamming her head beneath with a surprised grunt, Harry let out a burst of laughter. Draco couldn't help but stare just a little at him when he laughed like that, even if his smile wasn't for him. There was certainly more than one reason, more than just being the Saviour of the Wizarding world, that drew to Harry the attention of those around him. Even dressed in an oversized shirt and pyjamas bottoms he somehow managed to draw the eye.

Rising onto hands and knees, Harry crawled across the room to where Pipsqueak squirmed and yipped in an attempt to dislodge her head. Shoulders still shaking with laughter, Harry wrapped both hands around her torso and, with a tug, popped her loose. "You silly idiot, watch where you're going next time." Then he paused glanced to his side as though distracted by something, before turning back to Pipsqueak. "Look! There it is. Go get it!"

Pipsqueak didn't need telling twice. With another chorus of yips, a wriggle and a wag of her tails, she sprung from Harry's lap and dove after whatever he gestured after. Harry fell backwards against the couch, chortling as he watched her with the hand wrapped in the golden bracelet held aloft, golden chain extending to follow Pipsqueak's scampering.

"What have you got her doing now?" Draco sighed with false exasperation, descending the steps.

Harry glanced over his shoulder and just for a moment his grin rested upon Draco. Had Draco been feeling any real disgruntlement it would have been alleviated by that smile. "Her Christmas present," Harry explained, gesturing towards where Pipsqueak leapt over a couch and tumbled over the other side with a jangle of her chain. She'd grown noticeably bigger, even just in the past week. Her paws seemed too big, her limbs to long and lanky for her to properly coordinate herself. Every trip and stumble sent her face planting, only to spring to her feet seconds later with an enthusiastic " _yip_ " to dive after –

"Is that a mouse?" Draco asked, lowering himself onto the couch beside where Harry leaned. He turned raised eyebrows down upon him. "You've captured a helpless rodent and loosed it in the common room for Pipsqueak's amusement?"

Contrary to the effect Draco had anticipated eliciting with his scolding, Harry smirked up at him, completely unfazed. He shook his head. "That's uncharacteristically nice of you, Draco, to be worried about a mouse. But no, of course I haven't. I just transfigured a wind-up toy to make it more life-like and added a couple of charms to it."

Draco blinked. "'A couple of charms'?"

Harry rolled his eyes as he turned his attention back towards Pipsqueak's scampering chasings. "You don't have to sound so sceptical of my abilities. I can do charms, you know."

"Can you? It wasn't Granger who helped you out with it all?"

"Hermione," Harry corrected. "And no. Well, not really. Only for one."

"I knew it."

"Hey, no need to be such a git. What does it matter if I got some help?"

Draco's reply was overridden by the sound of another voice calling down into the room from on high. "Was it you who came up with the idea, then? Hermione gave me a little transfigured bird-toy to give to Kitsune for Christmas too."

Glancing over his shoulder, Draco watched as Lavender descended to stairs adjacent those to the boys dorm. Kitsune – yes, he could actually remember the white fluff ball's name now – followed alongside her, sliding down the polished bannister with remarkable balance. She was bigger than Pipsqueak, nearly as large as a shepherd dog though of a leaner build, and neither Lavender nor Hermione had been able to pick her up for some time.

Harry heaved himself from his seat on the floor and plopped into the chair beside Draco carelessly enough that he actually slid into him slightly. Draco wasn't complaining. "My idea, but Hermione came up with the logistics and spells and all that."

"I knew it."

"Shut up, Draco."

Lavender gave a small smile as she followed Kitsune down the steps. Kitsune, who appeared to have trained her sole attention upon Pipsqueak and her leaping and bounding chase like a hawk watching a rabbit. That in itself was different to how she had been of late; the foxlet was with increasing evidence missing Hermione, a fact that Draco knew had Harry, Lavender and Ginny increasingly worried. Apparently not today, however, which was something of a relief.

Lavender herself smiled more these days, too, or so Draco had noticed. Usually such smiles were directed towards Kitsune, but even so. Draco was surprised to find that he actually quite liked that fact. A quiet, subdued, downtrodden Lavender Brown was _not_ the same as he remembered. Not in the slightest. That made it _wrong._ "I should give Kitsune hers too, maybe. Then they can play together."

"Hermione did end up making her a bird then, did she?" Harry asked. "I wasn't sure if she was going to."

"Yeah."

"Why didn't you make yours a bird?" Draco asked with teasing accusation. At least, he hoped it came off as teasing. Oftentimes Draco knew his 'teasing' sounded unintentionally baiting. "That would make a lot more sense for a _gliding_ animal."

Harry rolled his eyes at Draco once more. "For you information, the mouse _can_ fly."

"What kind of mouse flies?"

"One that I've made. I just figured that if it was a mouse then it could probably run faster."

Draco stared at Harry. He knew Harry wasn't particularly skilled at Transfiguration, so it was a surprise to consider that he'd managed something so relatively complex. "You did?"

"You know, it's quite insulting that you show so little faith in my magical ability."

"I'm just a realist."

"Is that what you call being an arsehole these days?"

"Shut up, Potter."

Harry grinned in reply. It was a grin just for Draco this time. Draco found that any slight he might have felt over the criticism was immediately lost.

He was distracted, however, when Lavender pulled out a little wrapped box from beneath the tree and offered it to Kitsune. Kitsune at her side stared at it for a moment before squatting back on her haunches and actually taking the box in her front paws in a remarkably human gesture before tearing apart the wrapping paper and box itself in a way that was definitely _not_ human. A canary sprung free a moment later, and within seconds Kitsune had lost herself to the chase just as Pipsqueak had. The jingling of golden chains as they criss-crossed one another with the foxlet's passage filled the air.

"How long have you been down here this morning?" Draco asked Harry, who appeared wholly distracted by Pipsqueak's tumbling roll across the floor in pursuit of her mouse toy. He didn't even seem to register that Draco had spoken until Draco prodded him.

"Hm? What?"

"Did you actually even go to bed last night?"

Harry glanced towards Draco before his attention was drawn once more in a smile towards Pipsqueak. "Um… no. No, I was just down here."

Draco blinked. "What?"

"Did you know the house elves actually deliver all of the presents by hand and group them by name under the tree?" Harry said, rising to his feet and making his way towards said garishly overdecorated tree. "You should send a note of apology to them, you know, Draco. You have a shitload of presents under here."

Draco stared after him as Harry crouched down before the tree to begin riffling through the parcels beneath. He was still caught upon his previous words. Harry didn't actually go to be last night? Not at all? What was that all about? He had to physically shake his head to rid it of the thought; he'd address that later. "You mean you've been down here all morning and haven't opened your presents yet."

Harry spared a glance over his shoulder to Draco, raising an eyebrow. "Well, sorry if I was a little distracted."

"You were playing with Pipsqueak all morning, were you?"

"No," Harry muttered a little sheepishly, shrugging a shoulder as he turned back to the presents. "We weren't playing _all_ morning." Then, without another word, he grabbed what appeared to be a random package and lobbed it over his shoulder towards Draco.

They fell to present-opening then, Draco, Harry and Lavender sitting in a loose circle and each making their way through their respective piles as Pipsqueak and Kitsune nearly choked them each several times with the dragging lengths of their leashes. Draco had to protest to Harry's suggestion that he had 'so many presents' because, really, it wasn't _that_ many. Harry didn't really have that much less than he did.

He got several presents from his mother – a new cloak, several books, a sack-full of spending money for his next trip to Hogsmeade – as well as those from his friends, from Blaise – the bastard thought he was _so_ funny for including a pack of cards with his present – and Pansy, from Greg too and Daphne who he hadn't seen for months but still evidently remembered him enough so send him a box of Swarovski-studded chocolates. Of _course_ Daphne would go expensive and the expense wasn't detracted from in the slightest by the fact that her father owned a share in the company. How little Muggles suspected, consuming the truffles that were manufactured primarily through magic.

Draco set about picking at the chocolates as he flicked through on of the books his mother had sent him, fiddling idly with the Black Family signet that he'd received alongside it that rested comfortably upon his thumb. Longbottom had joined them at some stage that Draco barely noticed, and Megan Jones had passed through on her way to see her aunt, but Draco largely ignored both of them. He ignored the whole room, really, in favour of flicking through _Potions of the Lunar Cycle_. Only to have his attention diverted when a hard, heavy package collided into his shoulder and nearly knock him from his seat.

Righting himself, Draco scowled towards Harry who was perched in an armchair opposite him, grinning as he rested his chin upon one raised knee. He scowled only for a moment, however, because Draco couldn't maintain it at the sight of him like that. He was wearing one of what Draco knew as being an annual 'Weasley' jumper, green with an ornate golden H stitched across the chest. Shapelessly appalling as it was it only served to accentuate the greenness of Harry's eyes as he smirked across the room at Draco, clear and faintly sparkling even behind his glasses and the overlong fringe. Draco didn't see himself as one to stare longingly into anyone's eyes – he couldn't even think what colour Blaise's eyes were and he'd even dated him in fifth year – but he noticed it on Harry. How could he not notice?

Draco was gay. Very gay, he'd realised. He'd suspected after dating Pansy in third year, had known almost certainly after they'd gone to the Yule Ball together in fourth year and had any suspicions erased when he'd dated Blaise for such a short period of time that it was almost laughable. Draco knew he was gay, had accepted it easily enough, and he noticed.

He noticed Harry in a way that he hadn't really let himself nor even wanted to before. He noticed the curve of his jaw, the shadow of his cheekbones, the straightness of his nose. He was aware of the width of his shoulders, not overly broad but certainly distinctly different to a girl's and tapering down to his narrow waist that Draco could see even through the knitted jumper. He could admire his easy slouch in his seat, the extension of one leg before him with slacks rolled halfway up his calf to expose thin legs and the curve of muscle as his wriggled his toes to prod at Pipsqueak sprawled across the floor before him. Draco couldn't help but notice the soft smile that didn't carry the faintest trace of dislike when directed towards Draco anymore. Harry was doing that more often these days and Draco found he might have fancied that, too.

Draco saw all of it just as he felt his scowl fall from his face, just as he was aware of the warmth that settled into his stomach that should _not_ have arisen when Harry just threw a – a what? A present at him? Deliberately dropping his gaze from Harry, he raised an eyebrow at the rectangular package. "What is this?"

"It's a present."

"No shit, Potter," Draco drawled, hooding his eyes. "I meant why did you throw it at me? I'm sure that whoever gifted it to you would be most distressed that you were so disregarding of their thoughtfulness."

"No, they're not, because it's not a present _for_ me, but _from_ me," Harry explained slowly, patronisingly. "For _you_."

Draco stared at him. Then he turned back to the present. Then he stared at Harry once more. Harry blinked at him expectantly, his amused smirk still on his face. "You got me a present?"

"I did."

"Why?"

"Because I'm _such_ a nice person, is why," Harry grinned, dropping his knee when Pipsqueak rolled back to her feet and attempted to clamber onto his lap. She was really getting too big for it, but Harry didn't object. "How about instead of questioning everything you just open it."

Draco stared for a moment longer, detachedly aware that both Lavender and Longbottom were watching him silently. Then, clearing his throat, he deliberately picked up the present and tentatively unwrapped it. Only to find himself staring blankly at the book revealed.

"Potter."

"Harry. But yes?"

"I hate you."

Harry burst out laughing, his head actually rocking onto the back of the couch in merriment. "Come on, you have to admit it's kind of hilarious."

In the face of Harry's amusement, Draco couldn't maintain his disgruntlement. Not in the slightest. It was a struggle to impress a dissatisfied expression upon his face when he held up the book before him. " _Top Ten Things Every New Dad Needs To Know_? Really? You're a born comedian."

"I thought so."

Across the room, Longbottom laughed. "What's that, because of Pipsqueak, then?"

Draco turned a scowl upon Longbottom. He couldn't direct one to Harry but he certainly could to the other boy. "Shut up, Longbottom. No one asked for your contribution."

Longbottom only chuckled, sharing a smile with Lavender. It was Harry who objected, picking up a ball of wrapping paper and lobbing it at him. Draco ducked the projectile. "Will you stop throwing things at me."

"Be nice," Harry chided, though he still smirked.

"I don't have to be nice to _Longbottom_ –"

"To Neville."

" – if I… what?"

"Neville. Call him Neville."

Draco managed a scowl at Harry this time. "Why would I do that? I don't _have_ to."

"Because I asked you to," Harry replied and, stupid as he is rebuttal was, Draco couldn't deny its accuracy. Harry might not even be aware of it, but Draco found himself more and more inclined to do just what Harry asked these days.

Scowling even more fiercely as Longbottom's chuckles returned with bodily shakes, Draco directed a glare towards him. "Shut up, _Neville_ ,'" he grumbled, before picking up the wrapping paper projectile and pegging it at him.

Neville looked momentarily stunned, though for being hit by the wrapping paper or for Draco's use of his name was unclear. Only for a moment, though, before he grabbed another ball of paper and tossed it right back.

Within moments, a fight ensued. Between shouts of amusement, yips and yaps from Pipsqueak and Kitsune respectively, and the grunts and laughs as they all tumbled over couches to avoid tossed projectiles, the common room became mayhem. Surprisingly, Draco found he enjoyed himself. With Neville, with Lavender. With Harry. He never would have considered himself inclined to participate in an alternative version of a snowball fight in the eighth year common room, but there it was. And he actually enjoyed himself.

It might not have been a traditional Christmas morning, not for Draco. But as far as differences went, this one wasn't all that bad.

* * *

"I'm not going down. What do you take me for?"

Harry paused in the act of stepping through the doorway of the eighth year tower and glanced over his shoulder. Draco was still seated in the couch he'd positioned himself in for the past hour, surrounded by an admirable pile of presents and balls of wrapping paper from their spontaneous battle. His head was bowed over a book that he perused as though it was the most interesting thing in the world.

Frowning, Harry waved Neville and Lavender onwards from where they'd paused just beyond in the corridor to spare him quizzical glances. The both shrugged and continued their departure as he turned back to Draco. "Why not? It's tradition. Everyone who stays at Hogwarts over Christmas comes down for breakfast together. Well, it's more a tradition to have _dinner_ together, but everyone tends to go down at about the same time for breakfast too. You have to come."

"No, actually, I don't," Draco replied in a bored monotone, apparently hardly attending to Harry's words. "And I doubt anyone would want me to come down either."

Harry bit back a sigh. Oh. So _that_ was what it was all about. The whole people-hate-me-and-are-glaring-at-me-behind-my-back suspicion that Draco seemed convinced of. Harry shook his head to himself. Draco was an odd one when it came to such situations. He pretended to be aloof and superior, to object to the company of others on basic principle and to disdain their attention even should they offer it to him in a friendly manner, but Harry had come to the realisation over the past months that it was more than that. That Draco was worried about what other people thought of him, and that from his perspective, he considered that what they _thought_ was less than favourable.

Harry couldn't deny that at first the majority of the students at Hogwarts had regarded Draco warily. He could hardly blame them for that; Draco had been a Death Eater, if reluctantly so, and his father had been sent to Azkaban, convicted as one, his mother locked under house arrest for similar, lesser charges. Only months after the war, the survivors of the Battle of Hogwarts had been cautious around anyone even resembling a Death Eater, regardless of whether they'd had their charges cleared or not.

So yes, at first Harry would admit that they had stared. They stared warily, nervously, and a little suspiciously. But that suspicion had faded into curiosity, even into surprise the longer Draco demonstrated that he wasn't in fact evil. More than that, his bonding to Pipsqueak and the subsequent acceptance of his place as a fellow bond-parent beside Harry seemed to have changed the student body's collective opinion further. Draco wasn't as cold, as hard-hearted, or even as mean as he pretended to be. How could he be when he had a foxlet glider snuggling into him adoringly?

But apparently Draco still suspected that he was hated. That he was feared. He felt the curious eyes upon him and misinterpreted them, and now he was digging his heels in and denying himself the chance to enjoy one of the best breakfasts Hogwarts had to offer because he was a stubborn, objectionable idiot.

Glancing down at Pipsqueak where she sat on her haunches at his side, staring up at him attentively with her ears faintly twitching, Harry tilted his head towards Draco. "Go and tell your dad that he's being stupid and to move his arse, would you?"

"I'm not being stupid. I'm the only reasonable one," Draco replied, not even looking up from his book to reply.

Harry shook his head, rolling his eyes once more. With another tilt of his head, he urged Pipsqueak towards Draco once more. "Go on," he said softly. "He's more likely to listen to you than me." Pipsqueak wagged her tails and rose to her feet, trotting across the room obligingly. Harry flicked at the bracelet to extend it in a way that ensured he didn't have to follow her – a way that he still hadn't shared with Draco, much to his wordless disgruntlement.

"I can hear you, you know," Draco muttered. "You're not as subtle as you think you are." He didn't raise his gaze from his book until Pipsqueak stopped at his side. Then he actually turned towards the foxlet with a raised eyebrow and hooded gaze. Harry wasn't deceived in the slightest; Draco was a closet sap when it came to Pipsqueak. "What?"

Pipsqueak's mouth opened slightly in the way it did that made her seem as though she were grinning. Harry smiled, folding his arms and leaning against the edge of the doorway. He knew Draco was helpless against Pipsqueak's smile.

Not that he didn't try to resist a little longer. Though he closed his book, Draco still shook his head. "I'm not going down. You're wasting your time."

Pipsqueak gave a small " _yip_ ", squatted back on her haunches and flapped her ears in a series of twitches. Then she extended a paw forwards so her patagium spread and stretched like a wing, prodding gently at Draco's knee. Her second " _yip_ " sounded like a question, the impression only enhanced when she cocked her head to the side.

Draco heaved a sigh and slumped back in his seat slightly, briefly closing his eyes. "I'd much rather remain up here, actually. Besides, I've eaten enough chocolate to sustain me for years."

"Wow, such a balanced breakfast you've had there, Draco," Harry called across the room.

"Pipsqueak, go and tell Potter to shut the hell up and mind his own business." Pipsqueak cheeped in something that sounded like a laugh.

Harry smiled in turn. "Come on, Draco. You shouldn't sit up here by yourself. It's Christmas."

Draco turned a frown towards him. "Why do you even care?"

Harry paused thoughtfully for a moment. Why did he care? He honestly didn't know. When he thought about it, he and Draco weren't _really_ friends. Not really. Draco still had a biting comment or a sarcastic remark to offer in reply to every word that Harry spoke to him. He was still as much of a git as he had always been – or, well, not _quite_ as much of a git. He was different, not exactly nicer, but just… different. And he didn't actually appear to dislike Harry quite as much as he used to.

Even less so in recent days, Harry had noticed. He wasn't entirely oblivious; Draco had changed for some reason, just enough to be noticeable. He seemed frequently pensive, lost in thought and almost inward-facing. Harry had caught him watching him with a slight frown on multiple occasions. He didn't know why, as the frown didn't appear to be objectionable, or aversive, or angry, or even mildly disgruntled. He just frowned thoughtfully. That, and Harry had noticed that sometimes, strangely enough, when they were exchanging jibes that became sharper and sharper – not in a cruel way but in such an exchange that if Harry had shared it with anyone else he would have felt _sure_ they hated him – Draco had deliberately cut himself off. He stoppered his own words and replied with something noticeably less biting than Harry knew he could manage. It was strange.

No, Harry and Draco weren't friends. Maybe they would never be friends but merely co-bond-parents. But for some reason, Harry didn't object to Draco's company. He even found it if not comforting exactly then at least comfort _able_. Draco was an arse, but not as much as Harry had always considered him. Most importantly, he no longer objected to the fact that, for Pipsqueak's sake, Harry impressed his presence upon him. That was something, at least.

Besides, Harry quite liked the company, even if it was in casual banter or near-arguments most of the time. In many ways it was even easier than being around Ron and Hermione. Especially Ron and Hermione together/

Quite aside from that, however, Harry didn't like the idea of Draco spending Christmas alone. It just felt wrong, not the least because Harry had spent more Christmases than he liked to consider alone himself and didn't want to consider anyone else having to endure such solitude. He'd never really realised how much he'd longed to share Christmas with someone until he'd done so. Now he could never look back.

In a way that, for whatever reason, always seemed to make Draco twitch slightly, Harry shrugged. "I don't know. I guess maybe I just wanted to spend Christmas with you. I don't know."

He hadn't meant the words to be anything profound. They weren't. They just slipped off Harry's tongue with the casualness of his shrug. But for whatever reason it appeared to have some sort of triggering effect on Draco. He regarded Harry for a moment frowning in that thoughtful and not-angry way that he had been doing of late. Then, quite suddenly, with a pause only to stroke a hand across Pipsqueak's head, he nodded decisively and rose to his feet. "Alright. Whatever."

Harry grinned, and continued to do so even when Draco appeared to deliberately avert his gaze from the sight.

They trekked down to the tower together, Pipsqueak along between them with a jangle of her chain. The Great Hall when they entered was as radiant as ever with its twelve Christmas trees and the accompanying fairies dotting them, the tufts of mistletoe and holly wedged in every corner of the ceiling and around every wall sconce, and the gentle yet untouchable fall of snowflakes from overhead. It was even more so than usual for the platters strewn across the length of the Ravenclaw table; just the one table, and even that was hardly needed to seat every student and professor. Harry doubted there were more than a score or two of students remaining at the school over the break.

Said students briefly raised their gazes from their plates and conversations at their entrance, general cries of "Merry Christmas!" ringing unanimously down the length of the room. Harry felt Draco tense slightly at his side but chose to ignore the fact and made his way down the length of the table towards where Ginny, Lavender and Neville sat. Draco followed silently.

"Merry Christmas, Ginny," he said with a smile, to which Ginny returned just as brightly.

"You too, Harry. Love the jumper, by the way."

"Same to you," Harry replied, nodding at the blue-knitted sweater sporting a white G that she wore. "Cheers for traditions, yeah?"

"One that should have died a long time ago," Ginny nodded, but her smile was more affectionate then exasperated for her mother's persistence.

Seating himself beside her, Harry spared only a moment to ensure that Pipsqueak was comfortable – she'd taken up residence on Draco's lap, overflowing as she was, and sat up on her haunches to regard the spread before her with hungry eyes. Draco didn't object in the slightest, and actually set about piling up a plate that had far too much meat upon it to be intended for himself. Harry fell to dishing out his own breakfast.

"You going down to see Tod today, yeah?" Harry asked Ginny as he took a bite of syrup-drenched pancake.

Ginny nodded, replying through her own mouthful. "'Course. He doesn't need to see me quite so much nowadays – he's usually fine if I go down just for a couple of hours each day – but I want to go anyway sometime."

"You're heading over to see your Mum and Dad today, then?"

Ginny nodded, paused, then shook her head. "More like they're coming to see me. I think McGonagall said it would be alright if they joined us for the feast tonight."

Harry raised his eyebrows in delighted surprise. "Oh, they're are coming?"

"Apparently."

"It'll be great to see them. I've got to thank your mum for the sweater and your dad for his screwdriver set."

"His what?"

Harry glanced towards Draco at his comment. He'd paused in the act of spearing a piece of sausage to turn a frowning gaze upon him. "A screwdriver set."

"Meaning?"

"It's a Muggle thing. Sort of like a tool kit for, I dunno, manually fixing appliances and screwing stuff together."

"And you use this sort of thing?" Draco asked slowly, clearly faintly incredulous at the thought of any kind of non-magical labour.

Harry shook his head. "Not really. But it's the thought that counts. Besides, it's kind of seen more as a joke present than anything. What did your dad get you, Ginny?"

"An eclectic kettle," Ginny said.

"You mean an electric kettle?"

"Yeah, that. Dad heard that I've taken to drinking coffee in the mornings."

Harry nodded. He supposed the gift was at least thought out, then. He turned back to Draco. "Yeah. Stuff like that."

Draco stared for a moment longer before shaking his head. Surprisingly, when he replied it wasn't with an insult quite so scathing. "Of course. Why didn't I think of that? Who doesn't give their friends a toolkit for a Christmas present?"

Harry smirked before turning back towards Ginny. "Do you mind if I come along when you go to meet them at Hogsmeade?"

Ginny smiled. "Of course. So long as you bring Pipsqueak along. It'd be nice to introduce them to a foxlet that wasn't, you know…"

"Yeah, sure," Harry hastened to assure her. The momentary slip in her smile suggested the thought of a Berserk Tod that arose on the tip of Ginny's tongue still distressed her a little. He glanced towards Draco. "We're going to Hogsmeade to meet Mr and Mrs Weasley. You're coming."

Draco paused mid bite once more, glancing towards Harry and so missed the delicate snatching of his sausage piece from his fork by an dextrously subtle Pips. "Why?"

"Because Pipsqueak's coming with me."

"So why should I have to come."

"Because I'm asking you really, really nicely."

Draco blinked at Harry for a moment, before slowly raising an eyebrow. "I'm waiting."

"For what?" Harry asked, folding another slice of pancake into his mouth.

"For this really, really nice request."

"I just gave it to you."

Draco stared for a moment longer before rolling his eyes. "Whatever."

Harry grinned.

They finished up their breakfast with promptness, Harry and Ginny chatting between themselves and drawing Neville and Lavender into their conversation. Draco remained largely silent, though he no longer appeared as uncomfortably tense as he had been.

Their meal finished when a thought occurred to Harry. "Hey, how about we go out for a game of quidditch? Just us lot – Neville, you can join us, can't you? Lavender, I didn't think you'd want to, but –"

Lavender raised a hand to stall him, shaking her head. "No need to apologise. I don't really like flying. I'll just stay down on the ground and watch or whatever. Maybe take Kitsune for a walk."

"If you want to fly, Kitsune would probably be more than happy to oblige you," Ginny suggested. "It might even be good for her."

As one, all eyes, including Neville's turned towards Kitsune seated on the bench at Lavender's side. Harry felt a moment of concern rise within him once more that he struggled to smother. Kitsune had been happy that morning, but then she was happy most mornings. At least until she seemed to recall that Hermione wasn't around and then would become upset. The past few nights she'd been crying in yaps in the common room before Lavender, face crinkled with worry, took her up to the girls dormitory.

Now, Kitsune had fallen into subdued quietness. She hadn't eaten any of the breakfast that Harry had noticed Lavender offered to her, and her ears drooped sadly. Harry knew that Hermione needed to go and see her parents, that she needed to go for Australia, but he couldn't help but hope that she'd return soon.

Draco was the one to snap them from their communal concern. "What do you mean, she'll be happy to oblige?" He asked, and to Harry's ears the question sounded a little forced, as though he was deliberately attempting to distract them all from their concern. Strange; Harry wouldn't have thought him one to do such a thing.

Ginny shook herself from her own sombre staring and turned towards him. The smile she plastered upon her face rapidly settled into naturalness. "Oh, didn't you know that Harry's taken Pipsqueak flying before?"

Harry winced slightly – he didn't know why but felt suddenly as though he'd done something worthy of reprimand – and cringed as he beheld Draco's hooded regard. "What's this?"

Harry shrugged, only to find that Draco snapped out a hand to his shoulder, pressing the gesture into stillness. He didn't know why he did so but Draco didn't comment on the fact. "She's a glider. She likes flying."

"You took her on a broom?"

"Only _briefly_ ," Harry said slowly. He had to wonder that it sounded almost as though Draco were an overprotective mother worrying for her child. That Dad book really was ridiculously accurate. "She wanted to fly herself."

"And you let her?"

"It's good for them, Draco," Ginny cut in, frowning reprovingly. "Tod glides around his den all the time. That's why we installed the ropes."

Draco ignored her, eyes trained upon Harry. His hand still rested upon his shoulder, apparently forgotten. "Why didn't you tell me about this?"

Harry made to shrug but the weight of Draco's hand and the subsequent squeeze of his fingers stilled the motion. "I don't know. I didn't really think about it. Why? Do you want to join us?"

Draco opened his mouth in what was evidently a protest before he paused. His expression became considering as he frowned. "I might."

"Well, just do it now, then," Ginny sighed in evident exasperation. She rose to her feet. "Jeez, Draco, get that stick out of your arse. Come on. We'll show you." Without another word she set off at a trot from the Great Hall. Harry rose to his feet, urging Draco to his own, and followed after her. Pipsqueak, as though understanding what arose on the horizon, pranced between them enthusiastically.

They descended to the quidditch pitch through the snow, pausing only to outfit themselves each with a Warming Charm. Harry regretted in that instant not bringing anything thicker than his new jumper with him, but the charm would suffice for an hour or two. He afforded the same to Pipsqueak in the same second that Draco did, given that, even thickly insulated by fur as she was, she was particularly vulnerable to the cold. It seemed to do the trick for, when warmed, she sprung forwards and leapt through the snow with such jubilation that it was impossible not to smile at her antics. Harry extended the chain of the bracelet-collar link accordingly.

"Will you get off your fucking hippogriff and tell me how you do that?" Draco asked Harry, scowling at the sight of Pipsqueak tumbling down a snow heap a good thirty paces away. His scowl that only lasted for a moment, however, before he too was wearing something very near a smile. Draco Malfoy, genuinely smiling? Harry could only marvel.

He marvelled even as he grinned and shook his head. "Nope. Not a chance. You've got to work it out for yourself."

"Oh, like you did?" Draco asked, falling into step beside Harry as he made his way after Ginny, Neville and Lavender down towards the pitch. "Hermione probably told you how to do it."

"She didn't, actually," Harry corrected, smiling smugly.

"She did too."

"No, she didn't. In this case I'm being entirely truthful." For once he was. Not that it was any profound skill on his part that had discovered the Extendible Charm that worked on the bracelet. It was likely an inbuilt feature from McGonagall than an actual charm itself. Harry had simply been fiddling with the contraption and viola, it grew like one of those retractable dog leashes he'd seen Aunt Marge use on occasion. Not that he would admit the role chance had in his actions to Draco, however. Never.

Draco himself seemed to actually accept his words, if with more than a little incredulity. He muttered something unintelligible beneath his breath but otherwise gave no further protest.

When they reached the pitch, Lavender had already begun a slow circuit of the grounds with Kitsune, the foxlet practically clinging to her leg in what Harry suspected was more for proximity to a bond-parent than for warmth. Ginny had disappeared into the broom shed, returning moments later juggling four said brooms and a quaffle between her arms that Neville hastily offered her a hand with.

"How we going to go about this, then?" She asked, already slinging a leg over her broom.

Harry, bending down to heave Pipsqueak beneath his arm – she was definitely getting too heavy for such lifts – slung his own leg over the borrowed broom. "What do you think? What combination? You and me against Draco and Neville? Or –"

"I protest to that," Draco cut in, and Harry was startled to see an expression of actual dislike flicker across his features when he glanced towards Ginny. He hadn't seen such aversion from Draco for months, not to anyone. What was that all about? "I believe that would be an unfair advantage."

"For who, exactly?" Harry asked.

Surprisingly, Ginny agreed with a nod. "No, I think so too. It would hardly make sense. I'm the only chaser, so I should be with the least experienced person. And, no offence, Neville, but that's you."

Neville shrugged obligingly. "None taken."

"So me and Draco against you too, then?" Harry asked, sparing a glance towards Draco to discern if he would protest. The expression of dislike had vanished entirely from his face to be replaced by one of mild consideration as though his disgruntlement had never been. "That suits you?"

Draco nodded. "Fine by me."

"Alright then. Let's play."

As one, they all kicked off the ground into the air, Neville perhaps a little wobbly but steadying himself quickly enough. Harry took off high as he always did, with Pipsqueak in tow. The foxlet yipped excitedly, wriggling not enough to dislodge herself from her balance on the broom but with evident enthusiasm nonetheless. Her ears twirled and flicked like spinning tops, mouth falling open in a grin. She loved flying, loved it almost as much if not more than Harry did, he would fathom. The sheer joy that seemed to radiate from her when Harry rose into the air made his own experience even better.

Harry arced high, revelling in the feeling of the wind whipping through his hair, biting at his cheeks despite the Warming Charm that settled upon his skin. There was something so freeing, so calming, about leaving his cares and worries at ground level and abandoning them to flight. Harry had spent countless hours over the previous summer break escaping to the skies for just that release. Now he didn't need it quite so much, but it was still joyful. Still appreciated.

Wonderful.

Turning in a small circle, Harry drew to a halt mid-air. He glanced down towards Pipsqueak as she grinned up at him. "What do you think? Ready to go?" Pipsqueak only gave another particularly pronounced wriggle that Harry took to be a yes. "Alright then. Get ready."

Then he let her go and dove.

It took barely a moment for Pipsqueak to spread her limbs and fall into riding the winds. With a shrill _"Eeeeee-yip!_ " she chased after Harry as he sped across the pitch, leading her by the extending chain. The constant yipping that followed sounded almost like gleeful laughter.

Harry barely caught a glimpse of Draco as he soared past him. His expression looked just on this side of recovering from momentary terror in a protectiveness that Harry had never seen before. "It's fine, Draco! She's fine!" He called as they passed, Pipsqueak adding her own yips of reassurance to his own.

"Potter, if you kill my foxlet, I'll murder you in your sleep!" Draco called after him.

Harry only grinned, not bothering to reply. Draco's foxlet? Not hardly. Still, the words themselves flooded warmth through Harry's chest.

Instead, he pulled up before Ginny briefly, Pipsqueak arcing around him with crooning trills and swishes of her tails that appeared to act like a rudder of sorts. "Well? You ready to play?"

Ginny grinned with wide smile of her own. "You bet. I'm ready to whip your arse into shape. Show you how quidditch is _really_ played."

"Bring it on," Harry taunted, before turning his broom skyward once more, snatching Pipsqueak onto his broom as he passed, and rising to the sounds of her cries of renewed delight to plummet once more.

They played a hard game of quidditch. It was short but fierce nonetheless. Harry, Draco and Ginny were both unnecessarily competitive people, more so even than Harry found himself these days, so that even the less competitive Neville was urged into enthusiastic battle alongside them. The quaffle launched between Ginny into Neville's fumbling hands, only to soar back again to be intercepted by Draco, who passed it to Harry as they shot back towards the opposite end of the pitch with Pipsqueak in tow. Only for Ginny to intercept it again herself, snatching it from mid-air and spinning back in the other direction.'

Back and forth, up and down, rolling and twisting to avoid their opponents, they played. Harry found himself grinning so much that his cheeks began to hurt. He and Draco were surprisingly good together. Draco was a good flier, great even. Harry could admit that now he didn't dislike him so much. He had a different kind of grace to that which Ginny demonstrated, almost appearing to dance around the pitch while everyone else ran on their metaphorical feet. It was sort of enthralling to watch.

Pipsqueak joined in the game. She seemed to find it great fun, and actually catching the quaffle about ten minutes into it to a shriek of delightful yips. They all burst out laughing as she tumbled to the ground, even Harry as he sped after her to catch her before he hit the ground. Draco reprimanded him with a scolding of, "See? You wondered why I was concerned?" but it was through a his own smile. An actual smile, not even slightly marred by a smirk. He looked good smiling. Harry realised he'd never actually seen him truly smile before. That only enhanced Harry's own good-humour.

No one was keeping score. No one really cared, despite their competitiveness. Or at least, that was what Harry thought until Ginny scored a goal about half an hour into playing and Draco cried out, "Come on, Potter, that puts them one up on us!"

Harry only shook his head, diving beneath Pipsqueak once more in their cyclical scoop-and-rise to draw her into the air for another downward glide. Maintaining the foxlet's airborne status might have impinged upon Harry's ability to play to his fullest but he wouldn't exchange it for the world.

He drew to a momentary stop high above the pitch, panting slightly and turned his gaze down to Pipsqueak. She too was panting, her breaths puffing in white clouds before her, but her dark eyes seemed to glow with excitement and enthusiasm with only the barest hint of tiredness that would suggest she was reaching the limits of her stamina. Their recent hours of practice when Harry had taken them down by the pitch at nights or early in the morning when he couldn't sleep appeared to be paying off.

"Want to go again?" He asked, to which Pipsqueak yipped her agreement.

Harry turned his attention downwards, towards his friends as they wove in between one another. He made to release her once, but paused. Paused and felt a frown settle upon his brow as his attention turned towards two figures down by the frozen Black Lake. His confusion rapidly grew into foreboding.

 _Oh no_ , Harry thought, before, without another moment's thought, he banked his broom and turned it downwards into a dive towards the lake. Pipsqueak gave an indignant " _yip_ " that faded into worried chirping, likely a result of Harry's own fear rising within him. Her yips of concern called across the quidditch pitch, a reflection of those that sounded in Harry's own head. He pelted down towards Lavender and Kitsune with single-minded focus.

 _Not again._


	11. Chapter 11 - More Than Friendship

**Chapter 11: More Than Friendship**

 _Due to the pronounced and magical empathy of foxlet gliders, a magic that develops more completely when foxlets fully open their third eyes and mentally mature, a distressful or emotionally climatic situations is often felt on a more pronounced level. In such situations, the support of family groups or bond-parents is of particular importance. Individuals who have exhibited the formulation of an empathetic link or a 'friendship' with another member of the community have exhibited an inclination towards exclusive companionship with that particular 'friend' as a means of emotional support._

* * *

"She really is very lovely, Harry dear. Such lovely fur and so – oh!"

"Sorry, Mrs Weasley. It's othing against you or anything, but foxlet's just don't really like anyone other than their bond-parents."

Draco glanced towards where Harry was standing beside Mrs Weasley, the plump woman with an apologetic hand raised to her mouth as she drew her eyes from Pipsqueak back towards Harry. Pipsqueak herself had been practically sitting on Harry's feet, but at Mrs Weasley's attempt to touch her had sidled up to Draco's side and pressed her shoulder against his leg, the chain connecting her to Harry stretched taut. He found himself dropping automatically into a squat beside her, setting a hand to scratching her favourite spot between the two lines on top of her head. Pipsqueak hummed her approval, turning her wary attention for Mrs Weasley towards him instead and visibly easing.

Mr and Mrs Weasley had arrived at the school at mid afternoon. They'd taken themselves onto the grounds because, as they'd explained, they were a little confused after waiting for nearly half an hour outside of the Three Broomsticks with no sign of Ginny. Draco wasn't the one to ask them for that explanation; he couldn't bring himself to regard them both with anything but guardedness, despite the fact that Ginny's parents appeared to be nothing if not at least attempting to play nice with him. He barely spared them a glance at all. In fact, Draco found his attention largely monopolised by the construction of the second den down by the gamekeepers hut.

Kitsune had gone Berserk. Just like that, with not specific trigger apparent in the moment other than a build up of sadness and grief at Hermione's absence. Draco hadn't noticed at first, not until he'd seen Harry plummet in a frantic race across the pitch in the direction of the Black Lake. He hadn't seen much else, had only noticed briefly, momentarily, the expression of horror spreading across his face, visible even at a distance, that had immediately reared Draco's own.

Then he saw Kitsune.

She was baying and writhing, leaping and throwing herself around in the snow and appearing to be suffering from convulsions. The sounds of her yapping hadn't been audible at first, but as Draco chased after Harry, as he drew to where Lavender and Kitsune had drifted in their walk, he could hear it. It sounded horrifying.

Harry wasn't able to land his broom for the snarling attention that Kitsune swung towards him. Draco saw it, felt physically sickened by the sight of the foxlet-turned-Berserker in a way that he hadn't been with Tod. This time was different. This time he could imagine only too well how it could have been Pipsqueak who had turned, who had fallen prey to a bout of aggression and become effectively rabid to all but her bond-parents.

Kitsune was snarling, slavering, her hackles raised and shoulders bunched. Just as had happened with Tod, she appeared to have swelled slightly in size, grown just a bit bigger, only this time it was more impressive for her size was already considerable. Her third eye, the pale blue that was almost white, had opened in the centre of her forehead, glaring savagely at those around her, and that along with her size… all of it was intimidating. While Tod had been much like the rabid squirrel that Draco had once termed Pipsqueak, Kitsune was very large, very angry, and could likely do a lot of damage.

Harry paused just above them, holding catching onto Pipsqueak and drawing her onto his broom. He actually had to retreat slightly as Kitsune made a leap upwards towards them, prevented from actually making contact only by the chain linking her to Lavender. Lavender herself cried out as she'd nearly been hauled from her feet and into the air.

That had done it for Draco. He wouldn't stand for it, for Kitsune lunging and attempting to bite either Pipsqueak or Harry. Lavender probably could have done it herself, but she looked ashen, terrified, horrified and potentially on the verge of fainting as she struggled to maintain her footing. Draco ignored her and, drawing his wand, pointed it at Kitsune with a yell of " _Incarcerous!_ "

The conjured ropes sprung from the tip of his wand, leapt towards Kitsune and in seconds reduced her to a tangled cocoon that, though she continued to growl and shudder in a flurry of snow, was blessedly contained. Lavender stood frozen alongside her just long enough for Ginny to skid to the ground beside her. Then she collapsed in a fit of sobs that were nearly as hysterical as Kitsune's yapping.

Ginny tried to comfort her. Draco didn't like the girl, liked her even less since he'd realised his feelings for Harry, but he would admit she did a good job of it. She wrapped an arm around Lavender's shoulders, squeezing her gently and resting a cheek upon her shoulder as she murmured comforting words in her ear. Draco didn't hear much of what she said, but did at one manage to make out the distinct phrase, "Don't worry, Lavender. It's not as bad as it seems. We knew it was possible that it would happen and it's okay. Really."

Lavender sniffled and blubbered in reply, choking out barely intelligible words. "But sh-she's gone… she's gone Berserk and now – now –"

"Shh," Ginny hushed, squeezing Lavender in a hug once more. "It's okay. Honestly, I know it sucks, and it would be better if they were Sedate, but really, Tod's not all that different. Not to me, or to Ron. When Kitsune calms down, she'll be practically back to normal."

 _Yeah, unless she's around literally anyone or anything else in the world_ , Draco thought, but didn't say the words aloud. Not when Ginny's reassurances actually seemed to calm Lavender's sobs from hysterical to merely profuse. He actually felt something approaching sympathy well within him for Lavender, a feeling that was largely foreign to him. It didn't feel good at all.

Instead, he turned his attention towards Harry, to where he still sat on his broom with Pipsqueak wrapped around him. The both of them were staring down at Kitsune with the same horror that Draco felt. Draco could perceive it even from Pips, from the way her ears pressed along her skull, her head dropped, how curl into Harry's side and despite her size managed to wrap herself around him in the sort of hug she used it. And Harry… Draco thought he could almost feel it from him, too. As though he shared the empathetic abilities of Pipsqueak, if only briefly.

That had been hours ago. Since, they'd all of them dragged Kitsune to Hagrid's hut, making sure to skirt far away from Tod's den, and set about building a similar enclosure. Ginny took the lead, remarkably practical and blessedly so, for Harry with Pipsqueak practically smothering him and Draco reluctant to leave there side – he didn't know why, but he just couldn't – Lavender sorely needed the help. Ginny and Neville, that was, the other eighth year boy lending a wary hand that Lavender accepted with a sniffle.

Hours later and they were still standing at a distance from the widely spaced enclosures, staring down upon the makeshift den that wasn't quite as stuffed with toys and blankets, hanging ropes and numerous shelters as was Tods but resembled it all the same. Lavender was seated in the very middle of that enclosure, not even bothering to conjure up Warming Charms upon the area that Harry, still maintaining his distance, had done for her. She watched Kitsune silently as the Berserker prowled around her new enclosure, afflicted by spasms and snaps and throwing herself at the taut, mesh wall every other second. She would occasionally drifting back to Lavender's side with a semblance of the calm, quiet foxlet she had once been in search of an affectionate pat, only to throw herself into a rage once more and set about with hackles raised, yapping and snarling at anything that moved in the slight breeze. Lavender hadn't stopped crying all day.

The grounds had begun to darken by the time Mr and Mrs Weasley appeared. They were all smiles, all hugs of welcome for Harry and Ginny and Neville, affection and open love that had shifted to sympathy when they became aware of the situation. They were shabbily dressed the pair of them, perhaps a little less so than they had once been in a way that was likely a result of Mr Weasley's promotion. Even so Draco struggled to suppress the urge to curl his lip at the sight of them, to express his open disdain briefly before offering a scathing insult and then proceeding to ignore them entirely. The prejudice that had been drilled into him since he was a child, prejudice against the Weasley name itself, was like a nagging itch that longed to be scratched.

And yet ignore it Draco did, if only because he felt it would have been in poor taste given what they'd experienced that day. Lavender's heartbreak seemed to overwhelm every onlooker, drawing them into communal sorrow and regret, into open displays of sadness and sympathy. Even Draco felt himself effected by it, and felt the need to simply touch Pipsqueak on frequent occasions as though the contact would ease him some, just as much as he felt the desire to remain by Harry's side for some reason. Thankfully, Harry didn't appear to object to such a need.

It was a shame, really. Draco had actually been enjoying himself before Kitsune went Berserk. Breakfast hadn't been nearly as intolerable as he had anticipated, and the quidditch match afterwards had actually been enjoyable. Even more so after Draco had quashed his frankly humiliating concern for Pipsqueak when she and Harry dropped from the skies, the foxlet spreading her limbs wide in a soaring glide. Playing alongside Harry, even in his distracted frame of mind, had been… fun. More fun than Draco had enjoyed in some time. It was even more so because he was playing alongside _Harry,_ for the first time not on opposing teams. It had been a Christmas morning entirely different to those Draco had experienced in the past, but it had been enjoyable nonetheless.

A real shame. Not that Draco could blame anyone, not even Kitsune, though he did regret that she hadn't been able to last just a few days longer. Surely Hermione would have been back soon, wouldn't she?

Harry appeared to be more listening than talking to Mr and Mrs Weasley, with Ginny and Neville being the primary contributors to their conversation. Ginny was an unexpectedly beneficial addition to their observing party for her proactive distraction, and Neville too as he spoke when she faltered to stare at Lavender.

Harry too appeared to be distracted by the sight of Lavender as she sniffled over Kitsune. He'd barely spoken a word except when Pipsqueak settled herself at Draco's side and he turned his attention towards them instead. Sparing half a glance for the Weasleys and Neville, he edged to their side and dropped onto his haunches on Pipsqueak's other side. His hand rose to stroke at the back of her head, his hand brushing just slightly against where Draco's did the same. Draco observed him for a moment with a sidelong stare, watched as Harry trained his gaze upon Kitsune's den and fought the urge to speak. Better that Harry do so first if he had anything to say.

He did, apparently, after only about a minute or two of silence. His voice was low, nearly inaudible. "Well. This is shit."

It was a blunt, largely redundant statement, but Draco couldn't help agreeing in sentiment. He nodded. "It is."

"Two Berserkers."

"And one undecided."

Harry glanced up at Draco, a worried crease settling on his brow just visible through his fringe. "So far."

Draco opened his mouth to speak before closing it once more. He nodded. Yes, so far. There was no guarantee that Pipsqueak wouldn't go Berserk and though Draco could understand the sincerity of Ginny's viewpoint, could see how perhaps _maybe_ having their foxlet become a Berserker wasn't the worst possible thing in the world, he still didn't want it to happen. Not in the slightest.

They were silent for a moment, listening to the buzz of conversation driven by the Weasleys as they appeared to be attempting to impress a positive note upon that conversation. Attempted and didn't exactly succeed, though Draco had to give them credit for trying. His hand scratched almost compulsively at Pipsqueak's head, the comforting softness and warmth of her fur easing his discontent just a little.

Finally, he cleared his throat. "Well, we'll just have to make sure Pipsqueak doesn't get upset enough to go Berserk, then."

Harry nodded fervently in immediate agreement. In this situation at least they were not at odds even in the slightest. "Whatever we can do."

"In which case, I swear, Potter, if you try and pick a fight with me, I'll kill you."

Harry actually gave a snort of begrudging amusement. Shaking his head, he turned more fully to face Draco. "Out of the two of us, _I'm_ the one that needs to watch picking a fight?" He shook his head once more. "Besides, I think that would be counterproductive."

"Exactly," Draco nodded. "So don't let it happen."

'Wouldn't dream of it."

They fell silent once more, but only for a moment until Harry drew audible breath to speak. "Say, Draco. I know it's early and everything, but what were you thinking of doing for the Easter holidays?"

"Staying here," Draco said with such speed that he even surprised himself. Not that he would retract his words. He would be staying; the thought of leaving even briefly and having Pipsqueak go Berserk turned his gut. "Why?"

Harry shrugged, and for once Draco couldn't bring himself to bother with his annoyance at the gesture. "Just wondering."

"You?"

"Staying here. Definitely."

Draco nodded, releasing a breath he hadn't realised he was holding. "That's good, then. Good."

"Yeah. Good."

They subsided into silence once more. Draco didn't stop stroking Pipsqueak's head and neither did Harry, though they did pause just briefly when their fingers brushed once more. It was almost like a reassurance, Harry's maintained contact, reassurance that he would be there for both Pipsqueak and Draco. It was calming.

When it became too dark to see properly, even with their communally conjured _Lumos_ Charms, Mr Weasley made the suggestion to head back indoors. They paused only long enough for Ginny to call down to Lavender in the den. "Lavender? We're going up for the feast. Did you want to come?"

There was a pause. An extended pause in which Draco wondered if Lavender had even heard their call. Then she replied with a faintly warbling voice. "No. No, I- I'm fine. I think I'm just going to – to stay down here for a little longer. Thanks anyway."

Ginny paused and by the light of her _Lumos_ Draco could see her bite her lip, frowning. Then she raised her voice once more. "I'll bring you down something afterwards, okay?"

Another pause, then Lavender replied once more, even more faintly this time with the sound of tears welling once more. "Thanks, Ginny," she called back, and Draco got the distinct impression that it wasn't only for the offered delivery that she was grateful. Without another word they made their way back up to the school.

The feast was a more subdued event than it perhaps should have been, than breakfast had been that morning. Word had spread of Kitsune's maturation into a Berserker, and even the students who had absolutely nothing to do with the situation were hushed in regret and commiseration. It was far removed from the typical Christmas spirit, and Draco found himself somewhat put off his appetite despite the vast array of roasted fowl, baked potatoes and richly cooked vegetable drizzled in gravy on offer. Even Pipsqueak seemed less than enthusiastic, more interested in clambering from Draco's lap into Harry's, then back into Draco's again numerous times throughout the meal. It was as though she felt their distress and concern, sought to alleviate it with her simple presence. Draco found that, just a little bit, it actually worked some.

Draco decided to make his retreat early. Urging Pipsqueak from his lap, for it was apparently his turn, he leaned towards Harry to murmur in his ear. "I think I'm going to head up to the tower."

Harry turned towards him. He'd been largely attempting to make conversation with the Weasleys seated across from him, with Ginny and Neville and even some of the other students along the table, but Draco could tell simply from the tightness of his expression that his heart wasn't really in it. "Oh. Alright, then. I'll come."

Draco shook his head, even as a spark of warmth flared briefly within him at the readiness of Harry's offer. "It's fine. Pipsqueak can handle being away from me just for a little while." _Even if it might be distressing on my end_ , Draco thought, and was a little stunned to realise how true it was. He _did_ want Pipsqueak at his side. Harry too, for that matter. It was almost a need, that he just wanted them beside him. He didn't know why but – no. No, that wasn't true. He did know why. He was just surprised that his feelings on the matter were so strong.

But Harry was already rising to his feet, sparing a moment to turn back towards the Weasley's and the rest of the table. "Sorry, everyone. We're going to turn in a little early, I think. Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas," was the chorus of reply, spoken with an obvious attempt at lightness and joviality that was certainly more muted than they all pretended it was. Mrs Weasley reached a sympathetic hand towards Harry and patted him gently as Mr Weasley offered them a final farewell. "We might see you tomorrow, Harry. We'll be staying at the Three Broomsticks if you've a mind to come down for a visit."

Harry nodded, offering them both a small smile. "Yeah, definitely." Then he turned and, falling into step beside Draco, left the Great Hall. Pipsqueak squeezed into step between them so that she was touching both of them at the same time. Draco found it only a comfort.

The eighth year tower was, unsurprisingly, empty. It seemed even more starkly so after the presence of everyone else in the hall. The fire crackled with its usual purple-orange flames, and someone – the house elves, most likely – had cleaned up the mess of wrapping paper missiles that they'd abandoned strewn across the room that morning. They'd removed the presents too, and Draco suspected that if he went up to the dormitory he would find them piled upon his bed.

Without a word, he eased himself into the very seat he'd sat in that morning. Similarly silently, Harry lowered himself onto the cushion beside him, and a moment later Pipsqueak made no attempt at subtlety as she clambered into their laps. She stretched across them both, her upper half resting across Harry's legs and lower on Draco's. The warmth she radiated was just as comforting as her contact had been before.

They were silent. Silent for a long time, Draco lost in thought and Harry likely the same. For Draco, it was of contemplation. He marvelled at the revelation that Christmas day had brought him; not only had his acceptance of his feelings for Harry become more defined but he realised that for Pipsqueak they were markedly deeper and more pervasive than he'd thought before. He'd known he liked the foxlet, had even admitted it when Harry had teased it out of him. He simply hadn't realised quite how much that had been true.

Draco loved the Pipsqueak. He loved the simple companionability of her presence, the affection she rained upon him when he received precious little enough from anyone else. Even Blaise wasn't anything more than a friend, and everyone else was simply… there. Except for Harry, really, who appeared to have developed some sort of regard for him of which Draco was still attempting to discern the true nature of. But he didn't dwell upon that. He couldn't, otherwise he would start assuming, would get his hopes up, would think it was something more than it was, and he wasn't prepared to make a fool of himself in pursuing that suspicion when it could very likely be simply wishful thinking.

But Pipsqueak was different. She didn't care that Draco was a Death Eater – likely because she didn't even know or understand such a concept, but Draco chose to overlook that fact. She was a crutch of support in many ways, and the need for simply being around someone, for Draco to have a friend in constant company, had eased with her presence. he couldn't help but appreciate that, but even more, he appreciated the foxlet for herself, in a way he never would have considered himself capable of feeling for an animal. Because Pipsqueak _was_ smart. She _was_ affectionate, and loved him, and she was funny, and teasing and adoring, and seemed to revel in the simple act of living as so few people did in Draco's life at the moment. For Draco, that aspect of Pipsqueak's was just as important to him as everything else.

Almost as important as the fact that, quite against his will and before he'd even realised he wanted it, their mutual bond had drawn him closer to Harry.

Turning to regard Harry out of the corner of his eye, he observed him silently. He watched as his fingers stroked gently across the space where Pipsqueak's third eye should be, an eye that Draco hadn't seen opened since she had chosen him as her bond-parent. He appeared deep in thought, his eyes trained upon Pipsqueak who, contrary to her earlier nervousness, appeared to have calmed some over the hours into limp exhaustion.

Draco watched and he considered. He truly did fancy Harry, but it was more than simply attraction. He'd come to realise that through the company Harry and Pipsqueak had mutually forced upon him. He _liked_ Harry, liked him a lot. He wanted to make it work with Pipsqueak, to ensure she didn't go Berserk, as much because he knew it would upset Harry as much as he felt it would him if they failed. If anything, Harry was even closer to Pipsqueak, and Pipsqueak to him, in a way that Draco was gradually coming to terms with gradually, his jealousy dampening slightly from what it had once been. There were more important things to consider than his own jealousies.

"Did you want to sleep with her in your bed tonight?" Draco asked. He didn't know what made him say it; Pipsqueak had always slept in Harry's bed for the entirety of their bonding. He didn't know why he would consider it would be any different.

Harry glanced up at him, lips quirking slightly to the side in a downward tug. "I doubt I'll sleep all that much tonight."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "You're not going to sleep? At all?"

"Probably not," Harry muttered, turning his gaze down to Pipsqueak once more. The foxlet blinked her eyes open, tilting her head backwards slightly to peer up at him as though he'd spoken to her. "I'll probably just stay down in the common room or something. You're welcome to join me as long as you want."

Draco stared at Harry for a moment as the pieces slowly clicked into place. "You don't sleep all that much, do you?"

Harry glanced back at him without turning his head. "Yeah, I guess you could say that."

"So every morning you're down in the common room when I get here -?"

"Not every morning," Harry corrected. "I usually do just get up early. But sometimes… yeah, sometimes I just can't sleep."

Draco wanted to ask why. He wanted to know just for the sake of knowing, in a way that he'd never had an interest in anyone before. But he didn't. He could suspect the reason and he didn't think he wanted Harry to have to say it.

The war. It was always the war. It was what had awoken him from nightmares more times than he could count, what had driven he and his mother to sharing a bed for the simple comfort of having someone nearby. For Draco, it was the memory of the Dark Lord, of the tortures he and his Death Eaters had conducted that Draco had witnessed, that he'd heard through the walls of the manor when he'd managed to escape from watching them directly. It was recalling the stories the Death Eaters had told of their exploits, their laughter that had sounded nothing if not purely insanity. It was the largely unspoken threats that each held in their gazes when they'd turned to regard Draco, the curl of their lips and the utter disdain as though he were nothing more than a mite to be crushed beneath their shoe.

Draco remembered that. He remembered each aspect of it, so many encounters that he'd forced himself to shunt to the furthest recesses at the back of his mind. He'd worked with his mother, developed his Occlumency skills enough that he could suppress the significant effects of those experiences, but sometimes the memories still rose to the fore. There was no escaping them, even if Draco had mostly come to terms with his situation. He was, if not content, then at least able to survive. To continue. To exist without those memories dragging upon his every step.

If his memories were bad, what of Harry's? Harry, who had been fighting the people who were supposedly Draco's allies but terrified him nonetheless. Harry, who had faced the Dark Lord countless times, who had been _killed_ by him when the Dark Lord had fired the Killing Curse at him. Draco had heard the rumours even if Harry hadn't validated them himself. That he had truly been shot dead but had returned to fight again, just as he had been doing for years.

Really, it was no wonder that he struggled to sleep.

Nodding his head, Draco turned his gaze down to his fingers as they unconsciously plucked at his trousers in an attempt to smooth away wrinkles that weren't there. He didn't need to ask Harry. He didn't need to subject him to that. Not at all. "Right. I guess I can understand that."

"I bet you could," Harry murmured in reply, and though the words could have been sarcastic, Draco heard only sympathy – no, _empathy_ in his tone. Harry knew. He understood, too.

It was that as much as anything that caused Draco to retain his seat alongside Harry for the rest of the night. Even when Neville returned to sit with them for a few hours before retreating, when Jones made her appearance and offered little more than a nod of greeting before retiring herself. Lavender didn't make an appearance, but then Draco didn't really expect her to. Like Harry had claimed Ginny had done on several occasions, he suspected she was likely spending the night alongside Kitsune in her new den.

Draco didn't intend to fall to sleep on the couch beside Harry after exchanging little more than a handful of words throughout the entire evening. He didn't mean to, but under the comforting weight of Pipsqueak, the equal comfort of Harry's presence at his side, he couldn't help himself. He didn't regret it.

Harry didn't know at first what woke him. It hardly mattered to his sleeping mind as he swum from the depths of slumber into wakefulness.

Blinking his eyes open, his drew his gaze immediately to his lap. To Pipsqueak who, as she should be, as she was partial to since the first night they'd been bonded together, was sprawled across him. Beneath a textbook as it were, which must have fallen out of his hands when he'd dropped into sleep.

With a fumbling, sleep-clumsy hand, Harry reached up to such his face, ascertaining that yes, he was in fact still wearing his glasses. That made sense too if he'd fallen to sleep reading the textbook.

The warmth at his shoulder alerted him to Draco's presence at his side. Draco, who had forsaken his bed for the past few nights to simply sit with Harry on the couch. Harry didn't know the exact reason he had chosen to start doing so, could only suppose that it was driven by his inclination to be near Pipsqueak just as Harry was, but he appreciated the company nonetheless. Strange, how they spent so much time with one another these days – quite literally all day and now all night – but Harry never really got overly annoyed with his presence. Draco was simply there. They jested, they exchanged teasing jibes, they argued without any real sting but it was just easy. Harry had never expected that.

Since the night of Christmas, Harry found himself spending the dark hours alongside Draco on the couch. That first night, just as he'd predicted, Harry didn't sleep. He couldn't, for entirely different reasons to those that usually plagued him, but they kept him awake nonetheless. He and Pipsqueak, who he guiltily expected was kept from sleep because of his own unshakeable wakefulness.

Draco hadn't. He'd endured until the early hours of the morning before he'd fallen to sleep, head resting upon the back of the couch. Harry hadn't realised at first that he'd even fallen to sleep, so gradually and silently he had done so. He'd been lost in his own thoughts and it was only when he'd chanced a glanced from his periphery at him that he realised Draco's own silence had been not driven by pensiveness but because of his unconsciousness. He turned towards him, and he couldn't help but stare.

Draco looked different in sleep. Harry didn't realise how much tension he held in his face, how much effort he put into maintaining the superior and faintly arrogant expression, until it was shed into laxness. He looked younger, less troubled, the sharp lines of his face softened just a little.

Harry found himself smiling quite without realising. Really smiling for the first time since the incident with Kitsune the previous day had erased his Christmas cheer. This was a side to Draco that Harry hadn't seen before, and he felt somehow blessed to have seen it.

It was a very strange feeling indeed.

The second night, Draco sat down on the common room couch with him once more. More surprisingly, however, was the morning after when Harry had blinked himself awake. He hadn't expected to fall to sleep beside Draco and beneath the weight of Pipsqueak but he had. He'd slept well, too. The light of dawn was just creeping around the edges of the dark common room curtains that magically closed themselves every evening.

The third night had been the same. And then the fourth when Draco had made an effort to be productive. He'd disappeared briefly into the boys dormitory and returned with a pile of textbooks and parchments, declaring that if they were going to spend their evenings in the common room they might as well make use of it. Harry didn't comment that Draco didn't _have_ to stay in the common room with him. Something stilled his tongue, whether it was nonchalance or a desire to avoid raising that particular topic for fear of Draco taking him up on the suggestion. Harry had slept two nights, two good sleeps, for the first time in what felt like years. It might have been selfish of him but he didn't want to mess with a good thing.

He had, however, been guilt-tripped into following Draco's example. Begrudgingly, sheepishly, he'd retrieved his own books from his room and set about picking up where he'd abandoned his holiday homework. Which was how, when he woke up that morning, it was to his textbook propped on top of Pipsqueak, who snored in her own sleep with the lightness of a buzzing bee.

Stretching, hunching his shoulders to relieve them of their tension, Harry rubbed a finger behind his eyes and wiped the grogginess of sleep from his vision. He slouched back against Draco once more, comfortable. They didn't usually have such contact, such intimacy in wakefulness, but in the haziness of his newly-awakened mind Harry didn't really care. Besides, Draco wasn't aware enough to object. And he was warm. It wasn't cold in the common room, was especially cosy beneath Pipsqueak's fluffy weight, but a little extra warmth wouldn't go astray. It was just so comfortable, Harry felt he could almost, _almost_ drift back off to…

"Ahem."

The sound of a clearing throat snapped Harry's eyes wide open from where they had been drifting closed once more, blinking in sudden alertness. He pushed himself up from the where his head had unconsciously fallen back onto Draco's shoulder – unconsciously, _very_ unconsciously – and twisted in his seat to peer towards the entrance to the tower.

Hermione stood just inside the door, un-shrunken suitcase behind her and Ron at her side. They were both smirking slightly, Hermione with a strangely knowing expression on her face and Ron just a little bit incredulously. Harry felt his cheeks flush for some unknown reason. It wasn't as though he'd been doing anything wrong. What did he have to be embarrassed about?

Regardless, embarrassed he was, and in an attempt to alleviate that embarrassment he eased himself away from Draco further, nudging Pipsqueak from his lap and more fully onto Draco's, and rose to his feet. Taking quiet, creeping steps away from the couch so as to avoid waking them both from their sleep, he crossed the room to his friends with the golden bracelet attaching him to Pipsqueaks neck trailing like a tail behind him.

Hermione engulfed him in an embrace the moment he stopped before her, Ron a moment later. Their smirks faded into genuine smiles that he managed to return in kind, thrusting aside the last of his embarrassment. "Hi guys," he said quietly. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas to you too," they both replied in kind. Hermione continued with, "Thanks for that book on _Petauridae_. I've already read about half of it. It's really interesting."

Harry offered a feeble smile that felt just a little nauseous. Right. Hermione's present. He'd gotten it for her because of Kitsune which to Harry at least, and Draco, and certainly to Lavender, was something of a taboo topic of late. Hermione obviously didn't know about Kitsune yet, appearing far too happy for knowing, and Harry didn't relish the idea of being the one who had to tell her.

Instead, he widened his smile beneath Hermione's suddenly curious gaze and resolutely changed the topic. "Already? That was fast. I wouldn't have thought you'd have the time for it, what with everything else going on." He glanced expectantly between his friends. "How did it go?"

Hermione's smile widened until it was beaming and she turned her gaze up towards Ron who similarly seemed to glow beneath her attention. It was a little sickening to behold, all that lovey-dovey-ness, but Harry bit back any objections he could have voiced. He was happy that they loved one another, even if it did feel a little awkward to be the third wheel of sometimes. Besides, they'd shared something obviously special over the Christmas that made them happy. He couldn't resent them that, not even if he'd wanted to.

"Hermione was brilliant," Ron said, sincere praise in his tone. "Absolutely bloody brilliant. Not a glitch along the way. We ended up spending the whole Christmas with them, all 'cause of her."

Hermione flushed slightly beneath the praise. "Thanks, Ron."

"They're alright, then?" Harry asked, resting his attention solely upon her. "They got all their memories back?"

Hermione and Ron nodded in synchrony with identical smiles upon their faces. "All back. All fixed. They were angry with me at first but I think they were more upset than anything. Only for a little bit, though. After that…" Hermione shrugged, smiling with pride and satisfaction colouring her tone in place of any potential guilt.

"That's fantastic, Hermione," Harry said, genuinely delighted for his friend. He drew her into another hug. "I'm so happy for you."

"Thanks, Harry."

"Did they come back with you by portkey or are they flying?" He asked.

Hermione shook her head. "They'll be flying, but not yet. Had a couple of things to tie up in Australia of course."

"Of course," Harry nodded. "They were there for a while."

"Over a year," Ron agreed. "But you should've seen how eager they were to get back to Britain. I think they would have come by portkey if they could have. Anything to just be back with Hermione, I reckon."

Hermione smiled placidly, leaning into Ron's side as he wrapped an arm around her shoulder in a squeeze. "They said they should be making their way back over by the end of January. I was going to try and clean up the house a bit before they got in."

"I'll come with you to help out if you'd like," Harry offered. He hadn't quite gotten over his guilt for not accompanying Hermione on her trip, even if he couldn't bring himself to regret it. Not after what he'd seen happen with Kitsune.

"Thanks, Harry. I'd appreciate all the help I could get." Then, still smiling with in a glow of happiness, she deliberately changed the topic. "How about you? What did you get up to over Christmas?"

Here it was. Harry knew he would have to tell her – Kitsune turning Berserk was a pretty significant part of their holidays – but he'd never wanted to speak the truth less in his life. The thought of wiping that smile off Hermione's face was a painful.

So instead he shrugged. "Not all that much. Your mum and dad came to school for the feast, Ron, but otherwise nothing all that exciting. Spent the day with Pipsqueak, Draco, Ginny and Neville, mostly. And… and Lavender." He faltered a little at Lavender's name and didn't miss the faint frown that Hermione adopted, her smile fading slightly.

Ron didn't appear to notice. Instead he smirked. "Yeah, I can see you and Draco are getting kind of close." He raised a suggestive eyebrow, not in any way disapproving of that which he was insinuating as Harry might suppose him to be given that it was _Draco Malfoy_.

"Shut up, Ron," Harry muttered, though he felt his cheeks flush again. Why was he so embarrassed? He really had no reason to be. "It's not like that. We just fell asleep studying. That's all."

"You were studying?" Hermione asked, an approving smile rising upon her face. "Good on you."

"Yeah, right," Ron smirked again. "Studying."

"Shut up, Ron," Harry sighed again, though more resigned this time. Ron was an idiot who was making suggestive remarks that _shouldn't_ make Harry embarrassed because… because they were irrelevant. They really were. He and Draco had honestly just been studying. "It's none of your business anyway."

"Oh, the denials of the guilty," Ron chuckled. He gave a slight yelp as Harry punched his shoulder but only laughed harder.

Harry's attention was drawn from his flush – honestly, what _was_ that all about? – by Hermione, however. "I think it's a great idea, actually, that you two sleep next to each other. Lavender and I used to do that all the time with Kitsune."

"You did?" Ron asked, glancing towards her and thankfully missing Harry's reflexive flinch. "You didn't tell me that."

"Because it's none of your business," Hermione replied, parroting Harry's words with a smirk. Then she turned back to him and said the words that Harry had been dreading. "How are they, by the way? Lavender and Kitsune? I expect they're probably still asleep and I wouldn't want to wake them so…"

"Tod too," Ron added. "We were just going to drop our stuff off before heading down to say hi."

Harry fought his increasing urge to cringe. Fought it and felt he failed miserably. He knew that Hermione realised the meaning of his silence, even if Ron didn't appear to immediately. He could see the gradual understanding rising upon her face, fading her smile into rising despair. There was no surprise but simply anguish. Still Harry couldn't speak.

"What?" Ron asked, finally catching on. He glanced between Harry and Hermione, a frown settling upon his face. "What am I missing?"

Before Harry could answer, for he liked to think that he would have answered, a voice spoke up behind him. "The bloody obvious, Weasley."

Glancing over his shoulder, Harry turned to face Draco. Draco, who was rubbing a hand across his face as if to wipe away the sleep and shifting the yawning Pipsqueak from his lap to rise to standing.

Ron frowned, though less in anger and more disgruntlement. "Not to me, Malfoy," he grumbled, resorting to surnames as they tended to when butting heads.

"Obviously," Draco replied, crossing the room to stand at Harry's side. He affixed Hermione with a stare that was neither cold nor apathetic. Did Harry detect a touch of sympathy? He wouldn't have been as surprised as he once would have been if it were present. Draco wasn't necessarily different to how Harry had always known him; it was more that Harry was seeing a side of him that he hadn't noticed before. He found he quite liked what he'd come to understand of him, just as he liked and appreciated the fact that Draco stood beside him, offering support in a frankly painfully difficult situation.

Hermione's eyes had widened and already begun to water before Draco spoke. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I think it was probably just a bit too much for her."

Hermione didn't sob. She didn't dissolve into uncontrollable tears, though her tears did fall. Slowly, they trickled silently down her cheeks. She raised a hand to wipe them away, though it was a useless attempt as more spilled forth to replace those she flicked away. With a sniff, shifting into Ron's side once more when he turned an equally heartbroken gaze towards her and offered her a shoulder of comfort, she nodded. "I know. I almost… I almost expected it to happen. I'd just hoped…" She choked herself off and wiped once more at her face. Her eyes were red rimmed when she returned her gaze back to Harry. To Harry and Draco. "When did it happen? Was it… was it right away or…?"

Harry shook his head. He wasn't sure which answer would make Hermione feel better: that Kitsune had gone Berserk right away or that she had only just missed the opportunity to prevent it from happening. Likely neither would be particularly comforting. "It happened a couple of days ago. Ginny and Lavender, they've built a pretty good den for her. Lavender spends most of her time down there, actually. Her and Ginny both. I think they actually have conversations, even though they can't see each other 'cause they're so spaced apart."

Hermione gave a watery attempt at a smile. "I'm sure they've done a good job of it." She sniffed once more, rubbing the back of her hand over her cheeks. "I think I might go down and see her. Them. Now. If that's okay with all of you guys."

Harry found himself nodding in time with Draco, right behind Ron. "'Course," Ron said, squeezing her shoulder comfortingly. "We'll come with."

Hermione nodded in reply and without another word turned on her heel and made back out the door of the eighth year tower, suitcase abandoned in the doorway. Ron followed right behind her.

Harry spared a moment longer to share a glance with Draco. Draco had turned to meet his eyes as though he'd been expecting him to turn towards him. "Thanks for that," Harry muttered. "I don't know how I could have told her by myself."

The stare Draco affixed upon Harry was unblinking. It felt loaded with something _more_ , something that Harry wasn't seeing. At least, until he realised that his words may just have been the first time he'd genuinely thanked Draco for anything.

Inclining his head, Draco paused only long enough to glance down between them to where Pipsqueak stood, peering attentively up at the both of them. "Yes, well, I can imagine it would have been hard for anyone. No gratitude is necessary."

"Still," Harry said, more determinedly this time. "I really mean it. Thanks, Draco."

For a moment, dropping his eyes towards his fingers linking together at his waist, Draco almost looked embarrassed. When he spoke, however, it was with his usual casual offhandedness. "We're in this together, right? With Pipsqueak, I mean? It's sort of my responsibility, I suppose you could say."

That was what he said. It was what he said very deliberately. Harry wondered why he thought he heard something very different indeed. He smiled. "Sure. I guess you could say that." Then, without another word, they stepped from the common room to follow Hermione and Ron from the tower, Pipsqueak trotting along between them.


	12. Chapter 12 - Flight of Frenzy

**Chapter 12: Flight of Frenzy**

 _Despite the fact that foxlet gliders are particularly interdependent, relying upon those both in their family groups, empathy linked and bond-parented, particularly threatening situations have been demonstrated to induce a flight response. This response is exhibited more pronouncedly in juveniles and Sedate gliders than in their more aggressive counterparts. Analogous to the response of stampeding cattle, the mindless, compulsive urge to flee and to continue fleeing until abruptly stopped by a greater catalyst or until run into exhaustion has been observed in several instances and depicted a number of studies (Honeycomb et al., 1901; Jofferson, 1940). Foxlet gliders have similarly demonstrated markedly determined, focused and persistent behaviour in situations as workaday as foraging to those as climatic as territorial displays and aggressive encounters. This persistence is exhibited in such flight responses._

 _If such an occurrence is initiated in a tamed or 'pet' glider, at times not even the urging of their bond-parents can inhibit it._

* * *

Eighth year restarted with a vengeance. It was as though before Christmas had been the calm before the storm, but now the thunder and lightning had returned with rekindled vigour.

Harry had never been one inclined toward studying. He and Ron had spent most of their years at Hogwarts avoid doing just that. He knew himself well enough to know that he was a practical person. He learned better on his feet and actually doing things than, much to Hermione's distress, with a book open before him and quill in hand. Harry had long ago learned to tune out her scolding reprimands that urged him towards more consistent academic attendance.

That was before. Now, Harry found himself with his nose in his books so often that he could almost feel Hermione's radiating pride. It was entirely _not his fault_. Harry blamed Draco for his change in attitude. All of it; _he_ was the one to blame.

Draco didn't tell him expressly what to do. He didn't insist that, just as he did, Harry should spent his days squinting at the often minute writings in his textbooks, or shaking cramps from his quill hand after writing ridiculously long parchment pages of essays and revision notes. He didn't have to. Harry, who was by his side practically every minute of the day, had his habits rub off on him. He felt guilty simply sitting and doing next to nothing while Draco showed such obvious dedication to his work. How had Harry never noticed before how ardently and obsessively Draco studied? It was fascinating to realise, and at times Harry actually found himself just staring; Draco looked like an entirely different person when he concentrated wholly on his studies.

Hermione was ecstatic with Harry's apparent change of heart, which, after the blow Kitsune's maturation had inflicted upon her, Harry could hardly resent. She in turn guilt-tripped Ron into joining what she had jubilantly termed their 'study group' in either the library or the eighth year common room. Harry had become depressingly accustomed to the feeling of a sore arse from sitting for too many hours on the hard, unforgiving desk chairs. It didn't take too many such days for him to decide that he was decidedly more comfortable reclining on the floor alongside Pipsqueak than he was at the desks, a fact that Pipsqueak certainly made the most of by lying perpendicular across his back or belly at every available opportunity. She really was too big to sit in his lap anymore.

The professors similarly seemed to kick up their game, and seventh and eighth years alike were soon run off their feet writing essays, finishing reports and procedural anecdotes for Potions, drawing sketches for Herbology or those lines of unintelligible script for Runes. Harry marvelled at both Draco and Hermione's efficiency in scrawling the foreign script as though the blocky runes were an alphabet they actually understood. He had never been more thankful that he hadn't taken Ancient Runes.

It was all driving him a little bit crazy, and Harry had to seriously question his masochistic tendencies that had urged him to come back to school in the first place. It felt like the only times they weren't madly studying was at meal times which Harry, naturally, spent most of at the Slytherin table with Draco, Blaise and, more often than not, Luna. Draco had actually started pulling his textbooks from his bag to read at his meals, as though even a few moment bereft of study would effect his overall N.E. . He needed a reality check.

"You know, Draco," Harry said one morning in late February around a mouthful of toast. It was a surprise that Draco actually spared him a glance, pausing in writing what looked to be _more_ pointless notes from his Arithmancy textbook onto the parchment alongside it. "If you read while eating it will only end in disaster."

Draco frowned, momentarily distracted by his confusion at Harry's words. "Disaster? How so?"

"Disaster indeed," Blaise nodded solemnly, as though he knew what Harry was talking about. He didn't, but Harry had come to expect as much from Blaise. He was a bit of a shit-tease.

"Because," Harry explained, "you'll end up getting crumbs all through your book. It'll stain the pages."

Blaise gave a gasp of mock horror. "Not the crumbs!"

Harry ignored him. He hadn't missed the slight twitch of Draco's eye at his words. He'd come to pick up on Draco's quirks over the past months both unconsciously and, more recently, deliberately, and that twitch he knew was nothing if not indicative of barely suppressed agitation. Just as he'd realised, quite obviously, that Draco had a compulsive desire for cleanliness. Weirdly so.

"I have to study," Draco replied, though his voice was touched with a hint of something that could have been distress. Harry knew his casual words would stick.

Shrugging just because he knew it annoyed Draco for some unfathomable reason, Harry turned towards Pipsqueak who sat on the bench at his side and offered her the rest of his piece of toast. She took it gently from his fingers with tentative jaws. "Yes, you do. But half an hour to have breakfast or lunch or dinner isn't going to make that much difference. Just like always sleeping with a textbook isn't going to put knowledge into your head by osmosis when you're unconscious."

Blaise snorted at his side. "I don't know, Harry. I wouldn't put it past Draco's 'osmosis' abilities."

"Actually, I think more correctly it would be 'diffusion'," Luna pondered aloud at Harry's side. "Osmosis involves more specifically water movement. Diffusion is just the movement of molecules in general."

Harry, Draco and Blaise all stared at her for a moment as she contemplated the middle-distance thoughtfully before shaking herself slightly and turning back to her watermelon. Her whole half a watermelon, which she was eating with a spoon. Harry didn't even consider the oddity anymore. It was simply how Luna was.

"Anyway, moving on," Draco said slowly, blinking himself out of his bemusement. He turned back towards Harry. "It can't hurt to study just a little bit more. It couldn't hurt _you_ either."

"Actually, it could," Harry corrected, handing another halved slice of toast to Pipsqueak. "It's putting me and Pips off our breakfast." As if to directly disprove his words, the foxlet at his side swallowed the toast nearly whole.

Surprisingly, however, Draco did put his book away after that. Harry wasn't the only one to notice, either; Blaise watched as Draco turned deliberately back to his breakfast, sliding his textbook back into his bag, before he turned slowly back towards Harry. "What are you? How did you do that?"

Harry only smirked. He didn't really know why Draco listened to him sometimes, and actually more often of late, but it was certainly satisfying.

There were also the times that Harry – rarely – visited Kitsune and Tod with Ron and Hermione. He found that, quite unfortunately, both his study load and his desire to be around Pipsqueak as much as humanly possible restricted him from doing so more than he would have liked, what with the necessity of leaving Pips with Draco to do so. More unfortunately, it meant that he was spending less and less time with Ron and Hermione, much to his regret. He didn't want distance to come between them, but such would be inevitable, wouldn't it? He was spending less time with and Ron and Hermione as they became closer and closer with their relationship every passing day. It felt increasingly lonely to be merely an onlooker to such love, which Harry usually did from afar when studying, or watching them standing in the mid-ground between Tod's and Kitsune's dens.

That loneliness only urged Harry to seek out Pipsqueak all the more as a place of solace. Pipsqueak and, less consequentially and more deliberately, Draco. Impossibly, unbelievably even, Harry found himself liking Draco's company more and more. It wasn't so much that he _had_ to spent time with Draco because of Pipsqueak but more of a happy coincidence these days. He might have been a overly studious nerd, might have traded insults or spoken in sarcasm more often than he did otherwise, and he might have the weight of a history of mutual dislike resting upon his shoulders, but Harry liked him.

He liked spending time with Draco. Hell, he even sort of liked arguing with him. It was the perfect way to alleviate the stress of studying for hours on end. Besides, Draco actually occasional stopped in his studying to do just that. Harry wondered if he was as satisfied with the act of bantering, whether he too got a reprieve from it as much as Harry did.

There was that, there were the visits to the Berserker's dens, and there were meal times. But other than that, precious few times were spared from the exhausting routine of studying. The only other exception was when Hagrid, who still at times requested he and Pipsqueak join his sixth year classes to show off the foxlet's continued growth spurts, called him down for a visit on Thursday mornings.

Unfortunately, it just had to be one of those mornings, when Harry was with Pipsqueak by himself, that disaster had to strike.

He should have anticipated it. It was a windy day and, quite outside of what every book he'd read on foxlet gliders had said, Harry found that the wind tended to agitate Pipsqueak for some reason. Even as she followed him through the sludge of approaching spring rains down towards Hagrid's cabin, she grumbled and yipped to herself, snapping at the wind as though it were an irritating fly before pressing herself against Harry's leg once more. He rested a hand upon the top of Pips' head to soothe her disgruntlement; she was just tall enough for his fingers to brush her fur without needing to bend over.

Harry squinted into the wind and shucked his jacket further up his shoulders. He would have preferred snow to being nearly thrown off his feet by the gale. "I think Draco was right on this one. It would have been nice if Hagrid had picked some _other_ day for us to visit his class. Just maybe."

Pipsqueak grumbled her agreement, butting her head into his leg once more. She pressed herself even more closely to his side as they passed the foxlet dens; even from a distance, even though they shouldn't have been able to smell her from so far away, Kitsune and less-pronouncedly Tod set to throwing themselves into fits of snarls and barking yaps. Harry swore he could feel Pipsqueak's wariness on a mental rather than just a physical level, which quite possibly he actually could. He raised a hand to Lavender and Ginny seated inside each den, having a overly loud conversation of their own that he doubted either of them caught more than every second word of.

The sixth year Care of Magical Creatures students were huddled together like a waddle of penguins, their dark robes mingling together as they shuffled in step in the clearing before Hagrid. Hagrid himself looked none the worse for wear for the near-hurricane whipping around them and turned a beaming smile upon Harry as he approached them. "Hi, Harry, Pips. How're yeh doing?"

"Other than nearly getting blown away? Just dandy, Hagrid, thanks," Harry replied, though offered a smile to take the sarcastic sting from his words.

Hagrid actually looked a touch guilty for once. "Sorry 'bout this, Harry. I know it must be frustrating coming down every other week fer the classes and all, but I really 'preciate it. Won't keep yeh the whole lesson, though. I'm sure yeh've got a mountain o' study teh be doin'."

Harry waved away Hagrid's words. "Honestly, Hagrid, I don't have any particular interest in burying myself in homework any more than I absolutely have to. Do you know what it's like having both Hermione _and_ Draco setting an example?" He shook his head. "I get exhausted just watching them."

Hagrid smiled fondly, though Harry very much suspected it was intended more for Hermione than for Draco. He hadn't seemed quite as averse to Draco's very existence since he'd been bonded to Pipsqueak, or since Harry had assured Hagrid that more recently Draco was stepping up to the game as Hagrid would very likely have liked to demand of him. Harry didn't think he'd ever quite gotten over the soreness he'd felt that the foxlets would never consider him a potential bond-parent.

"Well, even so, I'm sure yer looking forward teh gettin' out o' this wind," he said loudly enough that the sixth year students evidently heard him for Harry noticed several of them nod in fervent agreement. "Alrigh' then, yeh lot. Gather round, gather round. Taking a look at our lil' foxlet here, see how much she's grown in the past two weeks before we get back into the Porlocks, which I'm sure yer all mighty excited about." Hagrid chuckled to himself at the lack of response from his sixth years who, Harry knew, had been studying the two-foot tall horses for several weeks now and were likely thoroughly sick of. He turned his smile towards Pipsqueak and studied her with a clinical eye before nodding approvingly. "Blimey, she has had a bit o' a growth spurt, hasn't she?"

Harry smiled obligingly as Hagrid launched himself into a description of the incremental changes that Pipsqueak had and likely would undergo in the near future. He found the classes of particular interest in a way he never had the study of magical creatures before, most likely because it held a certain personalised weight to it. Besides that, he enjoyed the softening of gazes as the small clutch of sixth years turned towards Pipsqueak. Whose wouldn't when confronted with her? She might be significantly larger than how she had been months before but she was still quite definitely the cutest creature Harry had personally ever seen. And he had seen _all_ of Mrs Figg's cats.

"Now, if I'm not mistaken, her ears are likely teh stop growing probably in about a week or so, which means she likely won't be getting all that much bigger from now on. I'd say maybe another head or two on her at most – she's never going teh be all that big, even is she does become a Berserker."

Harry winced slightly at the offhanded suggestion, spoken as though it could actually happen and perhaps even likely would. Only for a second, however, before he was thoroughly distracted by the crashing explosion behind him.

Snapping his gaze over his shoulder, Harry immediately dropped his hand down to touch the top of Pipsqueak's head. Her ears had swung forwards as she too turned to glance behind them, eyes wide and just a touch fearful. Harry noticed that the fur on her three tails had bristled slightly, was continuing to bristle.

Then he was distracted even from that by the white charger that pelted across the grounds towards them. By the scream of distress or perhaps of warning that sounded like it came from Lavender. By Kitsune who, somehow, appeared to have thrown herself through the mesh fence of her den and was making straight for them in all of her enraged Berserker glory.

Pipsqueak was momentarily frozen. Harry could feel it; she froze like a deer before the headlights of an oncoming car. To the startled cries of the sixth years that seemed to abruptly dissipate from their cluster, to Hagrid's bark of "Bloody hell!", Harry drew his wand. He acted without thought, without even a word of enchantment tumbling from his lips.

Thick ropes sprung from the end of his wand, spinning like a Frisbee towards the rapidly approaching Kitsune. She drew just close enough for him to see her teeth bared in aggressive rage, her third eye narrowed and hackles raised like spikes at her ruff. The sheer size of her pelting towards them, distinctly larger than Pipsqueak was, seemed suddenly enormous. Then she crashed to the ground in a heap of tangled ropes fifty meters away, of twisting limbs, yelps and growling " _yap_ "s mixed between her snarls.

Harry didn't get a chance to sigh in relief. He barely caught sight of Lavender sprinting around Hagrid's cabin, sheer horror and terror upon her face, before his arm was nearly wrenched from its socket. Pipsqueak had shaken free of her stupefaction. Without logical thought, she only now threw herself into flight. Unfortunately, with the chain linking them together, Harry was dragged along with her.

He maintained his footing just barely. It was a struggle, but he managed. Harry just steadied himself quickly enough before Pipsqueak, straining at their link, fur on more than just her tails bristling in her flight of frenzy, gave another tugging jerk and launched herself forwards.

Harry could have extended the chain. He might have perhaps even shot Pipsqueak down, wrapped her in magical ropes as he had Kitsune crumpled to the ground behind him. But he didn't. He couldn't do it. Not to Pipsqueak, and certainly not after he heard the pitiful, terrified " _yip_ "s that sprung from her throat as she dragged him towards the Forbidden Forest.

To the sound of Hagrid calling frantically behind him to "Stop! Stop, Harry, stop her!" and the unintelligible cries of the sixth years, Harry let himself be dragged into the darkness of the forest. Within second, running at a sprint with Pipsqueak's leash pulled taut between them, the grounds of Hogwarts disappeared behind him. Harry barely noticed. He had eyes only for the foxlet ahead of him, sprinting as if hellhounds were on her tail and wailing in terror.

* * *

Draco tapped his quill on his parchment in vexation. He liked Arithmancy. He was _good_ at Arithmancy, at least as good as Hermione and, perhaps in this case, maybe even better. Maybe. Probably not but maybe. But for some reason he couldn't concentrate.

Despite his resolution to throw himself into his N.E. entirely, Draco was finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate on Vector's words throughout the lesson. It wasn't because what she had to say wasn't interesting; it was new material, enthrallingly and unfortunately so as it meant Draco had more to memorise for the exams. But even so his studious attention had waned throughout the hour. Throughout the half-hour. Less, because it really hadn't been all that long since he'd entered the classroom. And the reason?

Harry. Harry and Pipsqueak.

Draco was only made aware – or more aware – of his dependence upon Harry and Pipsqueak's presence when it was absented. Only on rare occasions were they ever apart at all, for he spent almost every night down in the common room with Harry. On the nights that he did retire to his bed he got up early anyway and took himself down to the couch where he would inevitably find Harry sitting on the floor with Pipsqueak already awake. Apparently Harry didn't sleep all that well when Draco wasn't there either. He didn't know what to think about that; he knew what he _wanted_ to think but he wouldn't, what he _felt_.

Bloody satisfied, that's what, with just a touch of euphoria. Draco didn't even try to pretend to himself that he didn't fancy Harry any longer. He'd accepted it, even if he didn't know quite how to approach the situation. He still didn't, after months. _Months._

Draco and Harry argued as much as they talked. It wasn't really fighting, and certainly wasn't as rigorous as they had done in the past, but it was banter all the same. Draco still loved every second of it. They studied alongside one another, attended classes together, and cared for Pipsqueak alongside one another. That was just how things were. How they'd become. With the exception of the precious few times Harry went down to the foxlet dens with Ron and Hermione, they were _always_ together. Draco had come to quite like it that way.

And now… now he couldn't bloody well concentrate because Harry – and Pipsqueak, of course, Pipsqueak just as much – weren't with him. The hide of him! Even if it was for Hagrid's lesson, which, in Draco's opinion, had extended far longer than it had any right to, Harry should respect Draco's needs. Didn't he understand that Draco _needed_ him to better concentrate?

No. No he didn't. Of course he didn't, and he wouldn't unless Draco told him. Which, of course, he wouldn't. Ever.

Sighing, Draco trained his attention once more upon the equations on the blackboard at the front of the room. It was difficult; for some reason he felt even more distracted than normal, something like a physical itch niggling at him and urging him to his feet as though he truly should go and find Harry and Pipsqueak. With a struggle, he fastened his gaze upon the mess of numbers and brackets, of arrowed lines pointed to annotations that Vector had made and appeared to have multiplied tenfold in the time that Draco had been lost in frowning at the absent Harry. Shaking his head, he set to copying the notes from into his book.

"Now, if we exchange the alpha unknown with its composite _here_ ," Vector was saying, gesturing as usual with her rod of cane that, far be it from being used in punishment, was nothing more than a particularly long pointer, "then the similar exchange of the beta Chronicle, in accordance to the Wisenbourgh Equation, should be equal to alpha times two to the power of seven. From this of course we can discern through deductive reasoning and comparison to our previous equations that –"

A sharp series of knocks on the door silenced the professor. Starting slightly, for Vector often lost herself a little when discussing numbers, she slowly turned her attention towards the door. "Oh, um… yes?"

The door swung inwards to reveal a Slytherin sixth year – Francesca Merle, Draco recalled – panting in the doorway. Draco felt his eyebrows rise, blinking in surprise. Merle was a pureblood and no pureblood would willingly be caught in such an outrageous display of breathlessness. It was positively unseemly.

"Merle, is it?" Vector asked, lowering her pointer-cane and cocking her head with a curious smile. "How can I help you? Did you perhaps need someone, or -?"

"Professor," Merle interrupted with such promptness that Draco found himself surprised once more. Such rudeness was similarly unseemly. "Sorry to interrupt but I just – I just needed to tell Malfoy that –"

"Does another professor perhaps need to see Mr Malfoy?" Vector asked not unkindly.

Merle shook her head, her turning towards Draco and appearing to otherwise disregard Vector entirely. She swept a compulsive hand through her curls, struggling to instil a vague sense of composure upon herself. "He didn't ask me to come to – to Malfoy, Professor Hagrid sent someone to the headmistress but I thought he had to know, that he should…"

Draco found himself on his feet in an instant. That was right. Merle was about the only Slytherin in sixth, seventh or eighth year actually taking Care f Magical Creatures. She'd come from that class, the class that should have been running now, that should have had Harry making an appearance and a show and tell visit, in all haste. To find Draco.

He felt his stomach clench. "What is it?" Draco demanded. "What happened?"

"Mr Malfoy," Vector began, but Merle overrode her.

"There was a situation," the sixth year rushed to explain. She ignored Vector entirely for which Draco was sincerely grateful. There was something to be said for Slytherin camaraderie. "Kitsune somehow got out of her den. Pipsqueak spooked. She took off into the Forbidden Forest and Potter, he didn't shoot her like Hagrid _told_ him to, so he was dragged after her and –"

Draco didn't hear a word after that. He was distantly aware of Hermione gasping in horror at his side, starting to her own feet at the mention of Kitsune, of Vector attempting to interrupt once more and Merle continuing with her clipped explanation. He didn't heed any of it. Without a backwards glance, without seeking permission for leave from Vector or informing her of his intentions, he threw himself towards the door, nearly bowling Merle over as he set off at a full sprint down the corridor.

It was against pureblood procedure to run in public. It was against procedure to leave a room in haste, informally, disregarding everyone left behind, or to nearly cast a fellow pureblood to the ground when passing them in such haste. Draco didn't care. He didn't care about any of that, and doubted he had ever cared less in his life. To the sound of what was likely Hermione's footsteps racing after him, Draco tore through the castle with single-minded determination.

Pipsqueak had spooked because bloody Kitsune had _somehow_ gotten out of her den. Draco wasn't entirely ignorant of the behaviours of the other foxlets and their bond-parents; he knew that Kitsune was still wavering on the tail end of getting a hold of her Berserker maturation. If she did somehow get out of her den, it would mean that her perceived territory had abruptly extended. _That_ would mean she would confront any potential encroachers upon her territory, starting with her fellow foxlet gliders.

It was no wonder Pipsqueak had spooked. Draco had seen the slavering, snarling image that Kitsune presented. She was now as large as a German Shepherd and still growing and such a sight was terrifying. He would likely have turned tail in flight had she affixed her sights upon him.

Draco spilled out onto the grounds in both less and frustratingly more time than he had anticipated and hoped. Dashing the light shower of rain that immediately sprayed into his eyes, he charged down the hill. He didn't slow, not even when he was nearly thrown from his feet by the ridiculously strong winds which, Draco realised detachedly, might have had something to do with Kitsune's spontaneous and savage escape. He didn't even pause when his feet nearly slid from beneath him as he descended the rain-slick slope towards Hagrid's hut, barely sparing a glance for the dens. And d _amn_ her, Kitsune had already been replaced by an evidently frantic Lavender and even looked to have calmed. He barely considered it. Draco had thought space for only two things: Harry and Pipsqueak.

The Forbidden Forest; _why_ into the Forbidden Forest? Of all the places Pipsqueak could have fled to, quite literally anywhere else would have been better. And Harry was dragged after her? Draco could feel himself becoming nearly hysterical with rising worry. No, it was _more_ than worry; it was downright terror. Harry could take care of himself in just about every situation, Draco was sure, but this? Into the Forest that was so unpredictable and dark and deeply magical that it was next to impossible to prepare oneself for what would happen?

What if something happened to him? Merlin, what if something happened to Pipsqueak? He'd read offhandedly, barely attending to the words, that the stampeding flight of a frightened foxlet ended only with an abrupt and overwhelming trigger or when they ran themselves into exhaustion. The thought filled him with nauseating horror. Not Pipsqueak. Not _Draco's_ foxlet. And Harry too who, according to Merle, had been dragged after her. How would he even be able to keep up with Pipsqueak's flight of fear? Draco didn't blame him in the slightest for not being able to strike her down, in a binding or otherwise. He doubted he could have managed to do so himself. Not to Pips.

Panting, Draco only skidded to a stop when he pulled up beside Hagrid himself. Beside the sixth years that where huddling together with wide eyes and nervous shuffling. Hagrid was standing just on the outskirts of the Forest and looked to be strapping something like an armoury of weapons, tools and pouches to his belt. One hand was looped through a leash and attached to his giant of a bloodhound that hunkered in place with shoulders hunched against the wind.

Draco didn't pause to catch his breath, didn't offer any kind of greeting. He grasped Hagrid's arm in a manner that he never would have done before, demanding his attention. "Which way did they go?" He gasped. "Which direction?"

The half-giant started as he turned towards Draco, pausing in the act of fastening a second belt around his waist. "Draco," he said, tone vaguely surprised but not as much as it perhaps should have been. "What are yeh doing here?"

Draco barely even registered the use of his first name – which Hagrid was impartial to doing – or the faint reprimand in his question. "Where. Did. They go?" He ground out instead, narrowing his eyes more in desperation than anger.

Hagrid made a sharp gesture into the Forest. It was a redundant gesture because the Forest was largely directionless. "Just took off," he said, concern redoubling his frown. "Couldn't spot them. But don't yeh worry, Draco, I'm going teh go and get them. I'll go and find them, and Vorne's gone teh the headmistress so she'll be down in no time and –"

Draco didn't listen to another word Hagrid said. Instead, he turned his gaze upon the Forest once more, already drawing his wand. He didn't know where Harry and Pipsqueak had gone, would have to use magic to find them but… but something… it was something, a faint feeling, a faint tug that Draco had never noticed before. As though an unseen force had locked onto his desperation, urging him onwards in a particular direction. Was it the bond? Was it from Pipsqueak? He didn't know.

Draco didn't pause to consider it, either. Disregarding Hagrid's continued words, he released his arm and started towards the Forest.

"Now, wait just a minute, Malfoy," Hagrid said, resorting to the use of Draco's surname with his demand. "Yeh can't just go traipsing into the Forbidden Forest. It's dangerous if yeh –"

Draco snapped his gaze towards him and his expression must have been fiercer than he'd intended for Hagrid actually stuttered to a stop. "I am a fully realised adult, Professor. If I want to bloody well go into the Forest than I bloody well will." And without another word, he turned, picked up his feet and charged into the Forest. Hagrid took a moment to pause as if stunned before calling after him. Draco didn't even hear what words he said and they rapidly faded from hearing as he dove further the sheltered darkness.

Draco had never liked the Forbidden Forest. Not after his first year's detention in it's depths. It was dark, and spooky, and threatening in a 'can't see the danger but know it's there' kind of way. But for once Draco barely considered his fears. They seemed to pale in comparison to the greater fear that settled increasingly heavily upon him.

Harry. Pipsqueak. Were they alright? Had they run into danger? If they had, were they injured or had they escaped? What of Pipsqueak herself? She must have been terrified if she'd fallen into stampeding flight. It physically hurt to consider her distress, and more than just because Draco hated to think of her upset.

They all knew what happened when a foxlet became distressed.

He was sprinting. Draco didn't even know how for long he'd been running, jumping over fallen branches and weaving through tree trunks. His breath was ragged, was coming hard, but he didn't care. Some time, seemingly without his direction, his wand had sprung alight with a _Lumos_ Charm. He barely considered it, even as he followed the light of its illumination into the shrouding, almost tangible darkness.

He didn't encounter any creatures, blessedly. Draco thought he might have heard them, the distant crunches were the footsteps of a centaur, the whisper of leaves from the passage of Acromantula who, since the Battle of Hogwarts, had been realised to actually exist within the forest's depths. Draco didn't care, even as a part of his mind was screaming at him to watch his back, to be wary and on his guard. The far larger part of him was frantically scanning his surrounds for any sign of Harry and Pipsqueak.

He must have been deeply embedded in the Forest by the time he felt the abrupt sharpness of the strange draw within him. The link that he suspected, that he hoped, was leading him to Pipsqueak and Harry. Draco paused in step, nearly falling to his knees as his legs trembled in weariness and, gasping, turned in the direction his attention felt drawn. There. That was it. With staggering steps, he dragged himself into the shadows that, but for his mental itch, looked exactly the same as every other shadow.

Draco felt them. He felt them before he saw them, and even before his _Lumos_ caught a glimpse of them he felt himself nearly sag in relief. When he did, however, it was only to hasten his step into a sprint once more for both Harry and Pipsqueak were crumpled to the floor as though collapsed.

They weren't. Thank Merlin but they weren't lying slumped in unconsciousness or worse. Draco registered that much as, in a sliding collapse, he tumbled to the ground beside them. Pipsqueak was curled in Harry's arms, practically crawling up his chest with her arms around his neck as if in an actual embrace even though she was far too big to be seated in his lap. She was trembling, Draco could see, bodily shaking with her ears flattened along her head and snout tucked into the crook of Harry's neck. Her tails were twitching, bristled as if in continued distress, though at least – blessedly – she was no longer fleeing.

Harry himself was breathing heavily, as though he too had only just stopped running. He was shaking almost as much as Pipsqueak, clutching onto her just as fiercely in a return embrace. His eyes were closed, Draco could see, his shoulders slumped. His sat sprawled, legs twisted in what must have been an uncomfortable angle but he made no motion to correct himself. His hair was a mess, likely both from the wind and the rain that had been sprinkling upon the grounds, and there was a faint sheen of sweat painting his cheeks, visible even through the gloom. Somewhere along the way he'd lost the jacket that Draco had seen him wearing that morning, but other than a thin welt on his cheek that looked to be the result a snapping tree branch he appeared unharmed.

That whatever Gods Harry was always referring to.

Draco didn't think. He simply acted through his sheer relief. As soon as his knees touched the ground, as soon as he was sure that they were both blessedly unharmed and that thank _Merlin_ Pipsqueak hadn't gone Berserker, he lunged forwards and wrapped his arms around them both. He squeezed as tightly as he was capable of, ignoring Harry's start as though he hadn't even been aware of Draco's arrival, or Pipsqueak's feeble " _yip_ " as he crushed her between them.

He didn't know he was speaking, had been asking – no _demanding_ to know if they were both alright, until Harry interrupted him. "Draco, we're fine, we- we're fine. Really." He made a motion as if to pull away slightly but Draco didn't let him. He couldn't. Even at the sight of them both, his heart was still racing a thousand beats a minute. He was still wavering between terrified and sagging with relief. "We're fine, just… just tired. We're just… we're okay."

Draco forced his lips to clamp shut. He could feel his own arms trembling just as much as Pipsqueak did, as Harry shivered in his embrace, but he didn't care. It was an embarrassing display, true, but he didn't care. Not now. Pipsqueak was a solid, soft weight between them. Draco revelled in that warm, that softness, and was struck once more by how much the little foxlet truly had come to mean to him. _So_ much, more than he could have possibly imagined. More than almost anything else in the world.

And Harry, too. Harry, who was so real, so _here_ , just where Draco could touch, where he could feel him and know he was alright. If Draco had any further suspicions as to his feelings, the tidal wave of relief would have washed them away. This. This was what he needed. Needed more than he wanted, even.

It was a struggle to unlock his arms from around Harry enough to that he wasn't squeezing the life out of him. Just enough to pull back do that he was no longer crushing his face into his shoulder and to slide his hands up behind his head. Harry peered up at him, blinking hazily, wearily, still panting in slightly slower gasps now. Draco parted his fringe with his thumbs, met his gaze, and couldn't help himself.

He leant forwards to kiss him without a thought.

The circumstances could have ben better. They could have been much better, really. They were both exhausted, wet and shivering. They had a sorely distressed foxlet on their hands and they were in the middle of the fucking Forbidden Forest. But Draco didn't care. In that moment he'd never cared less about his surrounds, because he had finally, _finally_ worked out what to do about his feelings. That he simply had to act. Harry was the sort of person who acted without hashing out the theory. Draco would be just like Harry.

For a moment Harry didn't respond. He seemed frozen, as though stunned by the gesture, which he most likely was. But only for a moment until, wriggling one arm out from between them to draw around Draco's, he drew him close and pressed him more deeply into their kiss. His lips were cool but it hardly mattered. It was perfect.

It didn't last long, though. Not because Draco didn't want it to but simply because it didn't. Poor timing. Poor situation. Poor everything except for the fact that it had happened. When they drew away from one another, Draco maintained his hold upon Harry's head, however, eyes closed for a moment almost fearfully before he opened them to peer into Harry's. Harry was staring straight back at him with an expression that could only be perceived as wondering.

"Sorry," Draco managed to choke out in barely more than a whispered gasp. "I didn't… I'm sorry I –"

Harry didn't let him say any more. Not another word. Leaning forwards, he closed the distance between them once more and fit his lips back to Draco's. Perfect.

It was poor timing. A poor situation. It was appalling in everything else. But that at least was perfect. Draco didn't want to be anywhere else in the world

* * *

A/N: Hi everyone! I hope you're liking the story (UST finally doesn't seem so far from resolution, no?). Just wanted to leave a special thank you to my lovely reviewers - **secretlysmitten, AnnaBurton5.5apple26, Shinikaru Juun, EsterofPersia** and **Vladamir Mithrander** \- for your kind words. I absolutely love hearing from any and everyone, so if you have a second please take the time to let me know what you think. Thank you!


	13. Chapter 13 - Recovery Comforts

**Chapter 13: Recovery Comforts**

 _When foxlet gliders choose a mate, their choice is often founded upon an empathetic link. As such, those that demonstrate juvenile companionability, with said bonds or pre-established 'friendships' are significantly more likely to become a mated pair. The courtship ritual is often tentative, long and arduous and involving as much playful taunting as sincerity, but is distinct from merely friendly behaviour in the near constant companionability of the pair._

 _Quite notably, the effects of a courting foxlet have been demonstrated to have an effect upon the bond-parents of the individual, and vice versa. When such courtship from either party is undertaken, the inclination of the other end of the bond towards receiving the affections of others is distinctly more receptive. Frequent occasions have found that bond-parents will often develop deep and long-lasting relationships during the courtship sequence of a foxlet glider, whether to one another or to a third party. At times, when a foxlet is particularly partial towards the potential partner of their bond-parent, affection is heightened even further. It should be emphasised, however, as demonstrated by foxlet glider expert Jofferson in her 1945 study, that the feelings of a bond-parent for their partner, if influenced by the foxlet's behaviour, is not a compulsion or in any way reminiscent to a love potion or spell. Jofferson highlights from personal experience that such feelings are simply more distinctly noticeable beneath empathetic urging._

* * *

Harry exited the Forbidden Forest in a daze. He'd been dazed as such for quite some time now, when his fear and rising concern for Pipsqueak had overridden any sense of logic within him. Weariness weighed heavily upon his shoulders and he was eternally grateful for the fact that Draco seemed as disinclined to release his hold around Harry's shoulders as Harry was to drop his arm from Draco's waist.

His mind was abuzz with a mixture of emotions, from confusion to frustration to pain and exhaustion, and not the least of which being the fizzling aftermath of panic. His flight through the forest had been driven by that panic as much as it had deliberate intent. Pipsqueak had been terrified, mindlessly so, and unless Harry wanted to knock her down with a spell she would remain so until she had worn herself down.

Harry could never knock her down.

She'd sped through the forest with such speed that Harry had barely been able to keep up, bounding through the darkness and leaping through the trees. Minutes into her flight she'd even attempted to scramble desperately up one such tree in search of sanctuary and Harry, hating himself even as he did it, had to tug her down with a vicious jerk or risk having himself dragged off his feet after her. Pipsqueak was strong even when not driven by her fear and he had no doubt she would be capable of doing so. Even so, Harry still felt sick at the memory of her crashing to the ground in a roiling heap each time he'd jerked her from a tree trunk.

That self-loathing had persisted even when his exhaustion grew to challenge it. They must have backtracked at several instances, Harry was sure, for there couldn't possibly be so much forest for them to keep ploughing through without erupting from the other side. That exhaustion had begun to drag heavily upon Harry's limbs, was put to the test when Pipsqueak seemed to slow in her own weariness only to spring back into racing speed when some trigger urged her onwards. One such instance they'd stumbled upon a team of unicorns who, startled by Pipsqueaks sudden, yipping arrival, had burst into a stampede of their own. Even harmless, innately good and pure as they were, Pipsqueak's own terror had redoubled her crazed flight once more.

Harry was nearly collapsing by the time Pipsqueak begun to slow. He didn't think he could keep running, not at such a pace, and had just about resigned himself to being dragged along the forest floor behind her when he did the only thing he could. With a cry barely audible through his pants, he'd called out to her. "Pips, _please stop_."

Whether it was his tone or the empathy that Pipsqueak had picked up on, something caused the foxlet to stumble to a momentary halt. Harry had been stunned for a moment, rendered speechless that it had _actually_ worked. Then he'd shaken himself from his stupor and staggered towards where she stood, legs splayed, head bowed and sides heaving like an overworked horse. Harry slumped to his knees at her side and, without another word, had reached forwards and dragged the foxlet into his lap, into his arms.

Surprisingly, Pipsqueak hadn't resisted. On the contrary, at his contact she had curled herself into him, her claws reaching over his shoulders and flexing painfully to dig through Harry's shirt and into his skin. Harry hadn't cared. He'd clung onto her for dear life, relief rising to gradually replace the terror, the anguish, even stemming the exhaustion slightly. Just slightly. The rapid-fire _thud-thud-thud_ of Pipsqueaks heart pounding against Harry's chest was oddly reassuring.

That was how Draco found them. Found them and, before Harry had even realised he was there, engulfed them both in an embrace. The soothing calm, the relief, the _ease_ that he afforded Harry simply with his presence, his contact. It was comforting in a similar and yet entirely different way to Pipsqueak's clinging hold.

Then he'd kissed him. And Harry had kissed him right back. All of it… Harry hadn't even realised he'd been looking for the missing puzzle pieces but everything sort of just clicked into place with that.

Since then, since he and Draco had struggled to their feet to make their way in a staggering wander back in the direction of the school under the direction of Draco's _Point Me_ Charm, Harry's daze had become only more pronounced. He was glad for the support Draco offered him, the physical as much as the mental. He doubted he would have been able to make the effort to rise from the ground and start back towards Hogwarts at all if not for Draco's urging.

He still carried Pipsqueak. It was awkward for her size but she wasn't heavy, not with the Lightening Charm that they had put upon her. Or more correctly the charm that Draco had put on her, because Harry hadn't been able to untangle the foxlet from him enough to extract his own wand. She clung to Harry like a vine, claws still digging in to his shoulders and head bowed and pressed to his shoulder. Every so often she'd murmur a barely audible, wavering " _yip_ " but otherwise she was silent.

It was a long, stumbling trip back to the school. Night had fallen by the time they made it back, but the grounds weren't entirely empty empty. The night appeared to be illuminated by a _Lumos Maxima_ from at least two wands. Of students, yes, it was mostly absented, but there were at least three professors waiting on the tree line and Harry wouldn't have been surprised if there had been more embedded in the Forest depths.

At the sight of Harry and Draco, Hermione, Ron, Ginny and Lavender, the only students in attendance, sped towards them. They were nearly falling over themselves with their haste, and Harry only caught a glimpse of Slughorn, Sprout and Madam Hooch before Ginny collided into him. Only briefly, however, before she drew away with a gasped apology, for which Harry was grateful for the simple reason that it was incredibly uncomfortable to be wrapped in both Pipsqueak and Draco – who still hadn't let go of him for a second – with Ginny's crushing embrace on top of that.

"Oh Merlin, are you alright? No, of course you're not alright, you look terrible, but are you hurt? Did you get hurt? Are you alright?"

Ginny's gushing overrode any attempts that Harry might have but didn't make. Only for her to be interrupted when Ron shunted her out of the way to ask his own round of nearly identical question, then Hermione who wrapped Harry in another awkward hug. Until Sprout arrived and urged them out of the way, that was.

"Alright, you lot, move, move, out of the way." Her usually homely countenance was swept aside in a tide of practicality as she took in Harry and Draco with a keen eye. She frowned slightly, running her gaze over them both with a practiced eye that would have made Madam Pomfrey proud. Her hands settling upon her stout hips, she nodded her head sharply. "Off to the hospital wing with the both of you, I should think."

Harry was shaking his head almost before she'd spoken, anticipating her words. "We're fine, professor. Really, nothing's wrong –"

"Even so, Potter, better to be safe than sorry. You look about dead on your feet, the both of you." Sprout's frown deepened, brooking no argument, which Harry obligingly offered no further. He simply couldn't bring himself to bother. Instead, he remained silent as Sprout turned and called over her shoulder towards Slughorn and Hooch. "Horace, Rolanda, we'll send out those Retrieval Charms to Rubeus, Minerva and Hestia now." Then she turned towards Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Lavender. "You four should be getting back inside the castle now, I should think. If you would," she tilted her head towards Harry and Draco in unspoken instruction.

Hermione was the one who replied with a sharp nod of her head. "Yes, professor. We'll make sure they make it to the hospital wing."

"See that you do, Miss Granger," Sprout nodded once more with sharp approval before making her way back towards Slughorn and Hooch, raising her wand and already shooting aloft orange sparks just as her fellow teachers were. Short, sharp and succinct she was, with no need for delay. It was typical of Sprout; she'd ascertained that no drastic injuries required her attention and had responded accordingly.

Hermione made good her word. Without pause, she stepped up to Harry's other side, wrapping her arm around his back and across Draco's comfortingly as though he truly were a careworn patient, and urged them back towards the school. Harry and Draco allowed her to lead them without a word.

What followed was a flurry of activity, of Pomfrey's bustle, her request that they remain in the Hospital Wing 'just in case' and both Harry's and Draco's resolute denial to the suggestion. They'd won that battle at least, if only because Draco had, even in his exhausted state, turned his Pompous Arse switch on and declared he was leaving and Pomfrey couldn't stop him unless she wanted to have a duel, and did she really want to duel with a patient? Pomfrey had frowned, seething, but had finally obliged, folding beneath Draco's demand as few people could resist doing.

They retreated back to eighth year tower, Harry still clutching Pipsqueak to his chest and Draco falling back into step at his side so they exchanged arms in mutual holds. Pipsqueak's claws hadn't released their grip any but Harry thought that perhaps, if only briefly, she might have drifted to sleep a couple of times, though from growing ease or sheer exhaustion he wasn't sure. When they stepped through the door into the common room, it was to find most of eighth year still awake and waiting and the couch that Harry always stole for himself vacated for them. Harry offered a wearily grateful smile to the room at large before falling onto the cushions with Draco slumping into his seat at his side.

Silence throbbing through the room. Silence and staring, but Harry hardly cared. The trip to the Hospital Wing had just been one push too far and he doubted he would have even made it up the stairs to the dormitories, regardless of how likely it would have been for him to fall to sleep. Draco didn't appear any more inclined to move than he was.

Finally, the room began to flow into motion once more around them. Harry suspected most of his year mates had questions, wanted to know what had happened for no other reason that to simply know. Blessedly they held their tongues and slowly, gradually, turned back to whatever they had been doing: a quietly voiced conversation, transferring notes from textbook to parchment, quizzing one another or simply reading in silence. Harry could see Blaise still watching them from across the room but he seemed to realise that in this case his animated intrusiveness wouldn't be carelessly laughed of as 'typically Blaise'. He retained his seat and finally turned back to his own textbook.

Hermione, Ron and Lavender were the only ones who remained alongside them, with Ginny, under Hermione's unrelenting encouragement, taking herself back to Gryffindor tower. Ginny did so not without grumbles of discontent but easily enough in the end. Hermione herself took a seat on the only other cushion on Harry and Draco's couch, while Ron perched on the armrest and Lavender folded herself to the floor before them. Each regarded Harry and Pipsqueak and even Draco with expressions of tentative concern.

Harry hardly noticed. He was tired, he wanted to sleep, just wanted the day to be over. There were things he needed to think about, about Pipsqueak and how to soothe her should such a situation arise again, of how much he would have to monitor situations in the future to avoid distressing her, of how he should go about further calming her enough that she would, maybe someday, actually feel inclined to release her hold upon his t-shirt. That and… other things. Other Draco-related things. About how they had kissed and, far from being deterred, Harry had felt simply _right_ , even if it had been surprising.

But not now. Not tonight. Tonight, he just wanted to sleep, and all the better if Draco was at his side in his simple, soothing presence. Was it because of Pipsqueak's empathy that it felt so? Harry didn't know. He didn't really care in that moment. It just felt… right.

Unfortunately, even as he slumped back into his seat, adjusting Pipsqueak upon him so that she was no longer slipping off in an awkwardly clinging slide, Hermione took breath to speak. "Harry, I –"

"Honestly, Hermione, not tonight," Draco interrupted her with a sigh. His tone was not unkind, the use of her name indication of his intentions for an absence of cruelty if nothing else, but his words were quelling nonetheless.

Or at least they should have been. Hermione bit her lip for a moment, glanced at Lavender as if for support, before shuffling forwards in her seat slightly and reaching out tentatively towards Harry. Harry barely acknowledged her touch. He was already fighting a losing battle with his drooping eyelids. "I just feel like I have to say…"

"Hermione," Ron said, and surprisingly it sounded almost as though he were agreeing with Draco in sentiment. That Hermione should just let it go.

Hermione ignored him to. "I just have to say I'm sorry."

Harry, blinking rapidly in an attempt to stave off sleep, frowned slightly as he turned towards his friend. Maybe his mind was too addled by weariness to comprehend her words properly. "What?"

Hermione's lip quivered where it was caught between her teeth. "I'm sorry. That this happened. Because of Kitsune. I –"

"Hermione, it's hardly your fault," Draco interrupted her once more with a sigh. Again his tone was absent of cruelty, but he had slumped back upon the couch, head tipping backwards and hand rising to his wrinkled brow. "You can't take credit for something your foxlet did when she was Berserk."

"I – I know," Hermione nodded, but the worried glance she shared with Lavender bespoke her continued agitation. "I just –"

"Hermione, really, it's okay," Harry muttered. He sunk further again back into his seat, drawing Pipsqueak into him further and resting his chin atop her head. "It really wasn't your fault. Honestly it's… it's all fine now."

"But I feel like I – that _we_ should take at least some responsibility," Hermione persisted, gesturing towards herself and Lavender who nodded fervently in agreement. "I mean, it was –"

"It wasn't your fault," Harry repeated, closing his eyes. "It wasn't. It wasn't even really Kitsune's fault. It just happened."

"But –"

"Look, Hermione, I don't mean to sound like a git, but I'm really buggered right now so if we could just maybe…"

"Finish this conversation tomorrow," Draco finished for him. From Harry's brief glance towards him, he saw that he hadn't moved an inch from his own slump against the back of the couch, head resting backwards and his fingers massaging his forehead.

Hermione still looked on the verge of persisting but her bite into her lip seemed finally able to silence her. Or mostly, anyway, for she was unable to stop herself from adding a final, "Maybe you should head up to bed?"

Harry was already closing his eyes once more. He simply couldn't be bothered to attempt to fight it out with his friend, or argue it out, more correctly, and so only nodded in half-hearted agreement. "Yeah, maybe. In a little bit. Just…"

For once, Hermione didn't call him out on his bluff. Harry didn't even open his eyes once more to check if she was in any way deceived. He didn't need to. Instead, he settled with his chin resting comfortably upon Pipsqueak's head, leaning just slightly towards Draco's side, and already felt himself drift towards sleep.

He felt the slight jostle of couches as Hermione rose to leave. He heard Ron's murmur as he to rose, and Lavender's shuffle to stand. Not much after that, however, and even the murmured conversations around the room faded away.

Harry never made it up to bed.

* * *

When he woke again it was early. He knew it was early because for one, the fire was more purple than it was orange, and two, the feeble light straining to creep around the edge of the thick, mauve curtains was barely visible at all.

Harry didn't move for a time. He simple slumped in the couch in exactly the same position he'd been in when he'd awoken and blinked at the shadows cast by the fire playing across the room. The empty room, with everyone else having retired to their beds, which they very well should have if it was as early as Harry suspected. He felt remarkably well-rested, as he'd found he was want to do when he slept alongside Pipsqueak and Draco. Not even the shadow of a nightmare clouded his mind. It almost made him sigh in relief.

Pipsqueak had finally released her claws from their death grip. She'd pooled down in his lap, or almost off of his lap, more correctly, sleeping more limply than he'd ever seen her and half slumped onto the couch on the side opposite that of Draco. She was curled like a fox, in an almost perfect circle with tails fluffed and draped half across her face. Harry could just make out the occasional twitch from her closed eyes but she looked utterly relaxed. That in turn served to relax Harry further. His greatest worry of the previous night had been that Pipsqueak would suffer from persistent distress after her bout of terror. The ease of her sleep, however, the fact that she was sleeping at all, alleviated a whole heap of Harry's concerns. He reached a gentle hand out towards her to stroke the soft fluff between her ears. She didn't even twitch in her sleep.

At his other side, Draco too appeared to be deeply asleep. Asleep and, in just about every way, acting as Harry's combined pillow and space heater. Harry hadn't even realised until he turned towards him that he was as squished into Draco's side as Pipsqueak was into his, head lolling on his shoulder and arm looped through Draco's as though clinging to what little warmth it could provide. Not that it was cold in the common room but a weariness could never complain for too much warmth.

Harry slowly turned his gaze up towards Draco, studying him in his sleep as he had done countless times before but with entirely different eyes this time. Draco appeared to have moved not an inch since the previous night, his head settled upon the back of the couch and otherwise untwisted in any other way. His brow had smoothed of its creases, face softened in that way it did only when he slept. Harry stared upon him, eyes tracing over thin brows, the straight line of his nose, the slight parting of his lips, and he listened to his equally faint breathing. And he thought.

Draco had kissed him. Yesterday, in the Forbidden Forest, he had kissed him. It was likely driven by worry, Harry knew, for he would have been just as worried had Draco disappeared into the Forest with Pipsqueak, even so. It was still a kiss. When he'd drawn away, though he'd apologised for his actions, when Harry had leant forwards to kiss him in return he had responded with something that was far different to an apology.

Harry wasn't entirely sure what it meant. Or more correctly, he knew what it meant but didn't quite understand the _depth_ of that meaning. Draco had kissed him so did that mean he fancied him? Or had it truly just been a spur of the moment kind of thing? Harry knew they'd gotten close in a way that couldn't exactly be termed friendship but was oddly on an equal sort of plane, but fancying him? Harry wasn't sure.

At least, he wasn't sure how it was from Draco's perspective. From his own, a night of sleep seemed to have unconsciously ordered Harry's thoughts perfectly well for themselves. When he looked at Draco, as soon as he'd looked at him after awakening, he'd known: Harry definitely liked Draco, and not just as a friend either. He liked him in a different way. A bigger way.

That in itself was confusing, even if Harry did acknowledge that it truly was how he felt. He wasn't an idiot, wasn't fool enough to consider a relationship between two boys as a 'sin' or 'wrong' as most Muggles did in their world. That wasn't what was confusing. Besides, he'd seen Seamus and Dean together since the end of sixth year enough to overcome any lingering negative considerations in that regard. Muggles were sort of idiots for thinking that way. Or perhaps more correctly, many of them were blissfully and assertively ignorant.

With Draco, Harry would admit he'd never even thought about him that way before. He'd been a rival, then effectively neutral, then a forced colleague of sorts, a fellow bond-parent and finally something else. Something different. Harry hadn't really considered that either. He hadn't felt the need to tag a label onto their relationship, for it simply was. But now…

He liked Draco. Liked him like a boy would like a girl, with the only difference being that it just so happened another boy taking the place of that girl. More the concern was what to do about it further. Harry wouldn't just leave things as they were.

He contemplated that thought as he stared up at Draco, still leaning comfortably against him with his hand resting lightly upon Pipsqueak's back. Contemplated and considered and speculated upon how the conversation he knew was waiting for him when Draco awoke would take place. It wasn't because he was certain Draco would initiate such a conversation that he considered but because Harry knew he would. He had to. He couldn't just let it lie.

Draco woke up early. Or at least early by eighth year student standards. The purple of the fire had faded to its violet-orange glow, the feeble light creeping through the window paling several shades when he shifted slightly. Harry watched as the smoothness of his brow crinkled in a morning frown and, already expecting it, released Draco's arm as he stretched in what he'd come to recognise as a morning routine of sorts. A stretch overhead, a yawn, a frown, and then he blinked his eyes open. His gaze immediately drew towards Harry.

They stared at one another for a moment. Just stared, silent and thoughtful, and it wasn't as awkward as Harry had suspected it might have been. Or at least it wasn't as awkward for him as he'd expected. He still shifted slightly in his seat as the minutes stretched on, fingers still stroking Pipsqueak in a gentle caress.

Draco spoke first which was no surprise given how much he liked the sound of his own voice. His voice was solemn, however, even as the words themselves were more of a pleasantry. "How are you feeling?"

Harry shrugged a shoulder, the gesture catching Draco's eye for a moment before he settled his gaze back upon Harry's. "I'm fine. Good. Pipsqueak's… I think she's fine too." He glanced down towards the foxlet who, even as he watched, shifted slightly in her sleep, an indication that she was crawling her own way up from deep unconsciousness and into wakefulness. "I think she'll be alright."

Draco nodded slowly, relief touching his face and closing his eyes briefly. "That's good, then."

They were silent for another moment before Harry took up the baton. "How about you?"

"What?"

"Are you alright?"

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Would I have reason not be?"

Harry pursed his lips. "Other than the fact that you looked utterly exhausted last night? Maybe not."

"I'd wager I didn't look as bad as you did," Draco countered with a faint smile. Just like that, so easily they drifted back towards the comfortable banter that they always exchanged.

Except that this time Harry halted it in its tracks before the exchange could exacerbate. "Draco, I think we should talk about it."

His words could have referred to anything. It could have been about Pipsqueak, which would have made sense and they likely should have spoken about first, or about how they would approach avoiding such situations in the future. It could have been to discuss what had actually happened which, as far as Harry knew, Draco wasn't aware as of yet of the finer details of the situation, no more than what Pomfrey had extracted from him the previous night. It could have been about a whole range of things, but Harry saw in Draco's eyes that he knew to what he referred.

Draco's face tightened slightly before he schooled his expression. It became guarded, forcibly detached. Apprehensive, even. He took a long, slow breath. "Of course we should. As I should apologise. Again. It was presumptuous of me to impress myself upon you like that, especially in such a situation."

Harry stared at him for a moment, making sense of the littler meanings embedded in Draco's words. He was sorry. Sorry but not retracting of his actions. 'Presumptuous', he'd said, that he should 'impress' himself upon Harry, whatever the hell that meant. But he didn't claim it had been a mistake. Not in words or tone.

Harry held onto that interpretation when he replied. "Are you sorry for it? I mean, actually sorry?" At Draco's quirked eyebrow, he rephrased. "Do you regret it that we kissed? Do you wish we didn't?"

Though he opened his mouth to reply immediately, Draco paused. He paused and seemed to deeply consider, for once without the faintest touch of condescension, superiority, or sarcasm in his expression. When he spoke, even hard and slow as it was, Harry detected another echo of apology in his words. "I… do not. I don't regret it. It wasn't exactly a, ah… spur of the moment decision."

Harry stared. He blinked and stared some as Draco's words unfolded themselves and made sense to him. Incredulously, even, and as much because he could swear that a faint pinkness touched Draco's cheeks as anything. Draco Malfoy was _blushing_? For something other than pompous anger? Someone should take a picture and file it in a book of Rare Sightings. Harry stared as he turned over those words. _It wasn't exactly a spur of the moment decision_. Which meant that…

"Draco, do you fancy me?"

That blush, for definitely was a blush, intensified in Draco's cheeks and, in a display of petulance so reminiscent of Draco that Harry almost laughed, he folded his arms and lifted his chin. "I never said that."

"But do you?"

Another moment in which Draco appeared to struggle with himself passed, until finally he seemed to deflate. Drawing his gaze to the fire, frowned fiercely. "It's not like I can help it."

Harry couldn't stop himself. With a snort, he dissolved into laughter. Real laughter, that was likely driven as much by relief at the situation, a situation that had blessedly turned out for the best, as it was amusement at Draco's expense. It was insuppressible, even when Draco turned a glare upon him. "Hilarious, Potter."

"I'm sorry, I'm just –"

"You are not sorry in the slightest."

"No, really, I'm –"

"Highly amusing," Draco overrode him again, turning his body more fully away from Harry in nothing if not an objectionable stance. "Get it out of your system then and we can approach this conversation like adults."

Once more Harry couldn't help himself. Draco's words only made him laugh all the harder, much to Draco's evident vexation. So Harry did the only thing that he could do. Tugging on Draco's shoulder, he struggled to draw him around to face him properly. "Draco –"

"I don't have to put up with that from you, Harry," he said with a scowl.

"No, Draco –"

"I never considered you the sort of person to tease another for admitting their feelings. That's _my_ responsibility, not yours –"

"Draco, could you just shut up for a second and let me speak?" Harry said, shaking his head. "I'm not teasing you, you tosser." And making good his words, Harry reached forwards, wrapped a hand around the back of Draco's neck and drew him into a kiss.

It was a different kind of kiss to that which they'd shared in the Forest. Less spontaneous, though Harry had far from planned on doing so, and less contextually inappropriate. If Harry thought about it, which he did only distractedly, only briefly, it would have been the perfect setting for their first kiss: in the warmth of the common room, utterly alone, _dry_ for one and without even the slightest possibility of a threat hanging over their shoulder besides perhaps that Blaise should he happen to awaken early and spring his presence upon them.

Draco's lips were warm. Warm, if frozen in surprise, with not even the whisper of his breath meeting Harry's. Only for a second though, until he sunk into Harry, adjusting the press of their lips upon one another, his own hand rising to cup the back of Harry's head and thread through his hair.

It wasn't a particularly passionate kiss, nothing more than a chaste touch of lips. It might have been unremarkable, even, except for the fact that it was a _kiss_. A kiss between Harry and Draco, and that Harry actually _wanted_ it. That he wanted sorely. Harry found himself longing to simply maintain their contact, to revel in Draco's touch, to draw himself towards him into that comforting warmth that he'd noticed from him countless times before. Noticed but never really interpreted in quite the same way. Harry was _comfortable_ with Draco, despite everything. Despite their past and their history of antagonism, the war and their forced cooperation for Pipsqueak. For whatever reason, Harry was soothed by his simple presence, and he wasn't objecting to that fact. Far from it, even; why would he? So it was Draco Malfoy, previous rival and son of a Death Eater. That fact hardly seemed matter at all.

When they finally drew away from one another, it was with surprise that Harry noticed they'd physically drawn more closely together. It was as though they'd both unconsciously attempted to close the distance between them. Harry found his chest actually pressed against Draco's, found that they were nearly sitting in one another's laps, so close that even when their kiss parted it wasn't to draw away by far. Harry wasn't complaining.

Draco's face was still flushed slightly, though with a different kind of flush to how it had been. His eyes had closed briefly, fluttering open as Harry blinked his own wide, and met his gaze stare for stare. He looked faintly stunned for a second in a very un-Malfoy-ish expression but that shock faded rapidly. Faded into a smile that was even less like a Malfoy. Harry had never seen Draco smile like that before. He couldn't help but leant forwards slightly to kiss it.

When he drew away again, Draco had locked his arms around him so that even had he wanted to Harry wouldn't have been able to withdraw far. Those arms were tight, and seemed to draw even more tightly around him, dragging Harry towards him until he was nearly sitting on top of him.

"This could get uncomfortable," Harry muttered, more to himself than to Draco and without the faintest touch of concern for the fact.

Draco snorted, though his smile still remained wide on his face. "Far from it, I should think. I've never been more comfortable in my entire life."

"Good for you," Harry said, feeling a grin rise on his lips. "Glad to so oblige, then."

Draco didn't reply immediately. For a moment he only stared at Harry, and Harry didn't think he'd seen him happier in his entire life. Not even on the occasions when he'd quite literally pummelled Harry into the ground with their routine fights. The thought was almost a fond one in the hazy silliness of Harry's mind.

When he did speak, Draco's voice was low and weighted with unexpected intensity, a faint murmur but loud enough to be heard, for his intentions to be conveyed. "Harry. I feel I must ask."

"God, that sounds ominous."

"Shut up for a moment," Draco said, though there wasn't even the faintest sting to his words. "I have to ask, just to clarify." He paused, a flicker of uncharacteristic uncertainty rising upon his face for a moment before Harry saw him deliberately discard. "Will you go out with me?"

Harry stared at Draco for a moment, and even ridiculous as the question was he couldn't withhold the widening of his smile. Leaning forwards, shifting until he really was climbing onto Draco's lap in a way that he had never done with _anyone_ before yet still felt entirely natural, he settled his own arms around Draco more comfortably. "I thought that was already pretty obvious, you idiot."

"Just answer the question, wanker."

Harry chuckled, shaking his head. "Yes. Of course, yes. Git."

"Prat."

"Utter berk."

"Pillock."

"Pain in the arse."

"Stupid poof."

Harry opened his mouth reply – he had a whole list and could go all day – but paused. Cocking his head, he hummed contemplatively. "Huh. I guess I kind of am a bit, then, aren't I?"

Draco's smile broadened at his words. "Thank Merlin for that." He said. Then he tightened his arms around Harry once more, hand raising to the back of his head, and drew him down into another kiss.

This time it was different. Entirely different. Harry found himself fall into Draco, eyes closing and losing himself in the sensation of their contact, of lips parting and tasting his breath, of Draco's tongue sliding into his mouth and caressing his own with such a stimulation of nerves that he felt a shiver course down his spine. His hands fell to grasping more firmly, fingers rising to rake through Draco's hair even as he felt his own tugged, while those of his other hand skirting at Draco's waist, drawing behind his back and dancing across the body-warmed material of his robe.

It was heated, just a little frantic, almost frighteningly impassioned, and Harry revelled in it. He'd never felt anything like it before, nothing even resembling the ardour he felt in that moment for Draco. He felt flushed then chilled, driven by the desperate need to taste him to suck upon Draco's lip, the drink in the wordless hum of appreciation murmured into his mouth. His chest was pressing against Draco's, to which evidently neither of them had any complaint, and his slid his legs up on either side of Draco's thighs just so he could creep a little closer. Harry felt flushed, his skin tingling, an unexpected heat rising in his belly, in his groin which –

"Oh. Um…" Harry drew himself away from Draco momentarily, still maintaining his hold upon his hair, fingers of his other hand still tangled onto Draco's robes. He felt his cheeks flushing as he shuffled back slightly, could hardly meet Draco's gaze even for a second. "Sorry about that, I –"

It was Draco's turn to laugh this time, and he didn't appear even faintly apologetic for doing so. It was a low laugh, his grin widening as, hands dropping to lock onto the back of Harry's jeans, he drew him closer once more. He spared a very pointed look down between them before raising his gaze to meet Harry's eyes with a smirk. Harry felt his cheeks flush further and couldn't help but offer a feeble cuff to the side of Draco's head for his teasing. "Shut up, you git."

Far be it from appearing indignant for Harry's half-hearted smack, Draco's grin only widened. "I'm not complaining in the slightest. It's utterly delightful that you can get turned on by a bit of making out."

"Oh God, please shut up –"

"Utterly delightful."

Harry raised a hand to cover his eyes. Unfortunately, his embarrassment was doing nothing for his arousal, seeming to only maintain the flush in his cheeks. "I hate you."

"No you don't."

"I do. I hate you."

Draco laughed once more before he leaned forwards and very deliberately pried Harry's hand from his eyes. His smile softened slightly as he tilted his head and, with utter surety – the prat, he'd become confident remarkably quickly – he said, "No. You don't." Then he leaned forwards once more and pressed his lips against Harry's.

Harry could have objected. A part of him wanted to; he was quite literally sitting in Draco's lap with got a hard-on that was _very_ difficult to simply overlook. But he didn't. Because Draco's lips against his own, the gentle coaxing into ease and disregard and ignoring the embarrassment entirely distracting. His hand cupped the back of Harry's head once more, drawing him more deeply into their kiss, tilting his head so that he could press even deeper. And when Draco drew Harry's hips towards him once more, when his hand actually reached down between them to slowly caress him through his jeans, Harry felt even the vestiges of his embarrassment fade into a muffled groan.

Leaning into Draco, locking his fingers into his hair once more, he peered down at his eyes with a faint glare that he didn't feel even in the slightest. "Don't _do_ that."

"Really? You don't want me to do that?"

"Here? Now? Not really."

"Liar."

"You realise how many people could walk in on us right now?"

Draco raised an eyebrow. "So let them."

Harry shook his head. "You're insufferable. I don't know why I agreed to date you."

Draco's smile widened once more. "Obviously because you like me." He leaned forwards and drew Harry into a kiss once more. Harry couldn't bring himself to draw away, and didn't really want to. Somehow along the way, between losing his breath and losing his head to the feel of Draco pressed against him, Harry forgot his arguments.

Draco touched him just gently, briefly, just enough to draw a gasp from him every other second, and seemed to revel in the fact. Harry couldn't even find it within himself to be embarrassed at that, feeling only increasingly frustrated by the brevity of those touches. He'd never gotten off with another boy before, didn't really know the protocol of what to do with his hands, but that didn't seem to matter all that much in that moment either. Not when Draco was touching him. Not when, quite suddenly, he was made aware that he wasn't the only one more than a little turned on by their situation. Harry had never considered that another bloke getting aroused because of _him_ would be quite so enthralling before.

Apparently, he'd been wrong.

Harry didn't know what to do. Evidently Draco did but Harry didn't. That didn't mean he didn't let his body act for him, however. He found himself reaching for Draco in turn, sliding his fingers beneath his robes and catching upon his trousers beneath, slipping a hand behind the band of his pants. Draco's breath actually caught when his fingers stroked across bare skin, which drew a self-satisfied smile from Harry until his attention was thoroughly diverted by the carress of Draco's tongue on his lips and sliding within his mouth, his fingers stroking against. _God_ but did Harry find a sudden, new appreciation for Draco's fingers. Their long coolness as they slipped down Harry's back, as they slid along the edge of his own trousers, as they swept across his hardness with only the infuriating barrier of jeans between them. Despite himself and his misgivings, Harry thought he would have been more than happy to relieve himself of his clothing if it meant there was just a little less distance between his heated arousal and Draco's touch. He even might have taking the distracted thought up on its suggestion, except -

 _"Eeeee-yip!_ "

Harry froze. With his hand halfway down Draco's pants, he stared down into his eyes from where they had both stuttered to a stop mid-kiss. He felt his eyes widen as he saw Draco's do the same, and turned to glance sidelong towards Pipsqueak.

How the hell had he forgotten about Pipsqueak?

The foxlet was blinking as though attempting to clear the grogginess of sleep from her eyes. She'd uncurled from her sleeping coil, ears lopsided as though her slow wakefulness hadn't quite managed to straighten them yet. As Harry's attention turned towards her, immobilised as he was, she staggered to her feet and made her idling way towards them across the short distance of couch. Quite disregarding Harry and Draco's evident intimacy, and their suddenly horrifyingly persistent arousals, she clambered very deliberately into the scant space that had opened between them, slumping as though the walls of their bodies were a hammock bed. She wasn't really small enough to do so, not by any stretch, and Harry found himself nearly tumbled backwards off Draco's lap in Pipsqueak's attempt to slot herself directly in between what were objectively her two favourite people in the world.

Harry couldn't help himself. It was just too irrational. He found himself laughing with just a touch of hysteria as he stared down at Pipsqueak reclined on her back in his and Draco's laps. She peered up at them both innocently with the beginnings of her own smile lolling her mouth open as she was infected by Harry's amusement. Even wider when Draco, shaken from his stupor, rocked his head backwards onto the couch and groaned. "You've got to be kidding me."

"Well, that puts a bit of a dampener on things."

"Quite literally."

Harry laughed again. "Can't be helped, I guess."

Draco rocked his head forwards and turned a glare down upon Pipsqueak. Her resulting wiggle, the wagging of her tails and the widening of her smile, bespoke the absence of any real heat if Harry hadn't been able to see it for himself. "We were kind of in the middle of something here. I should just push you off."

Harry struggled to replace his smile with a frown, dropping an unnecessarily protective hand upon Pipsqueak. "Oi, Draco, you're not throwing her off."

"Just move her to the side, then. We were just –"

"We're not going to get off right in front of her." Harry shook his head, mortified, even as his lips still quivered with amusement. "We're not."

"It's not like it _matters_ –"

"She'll see, Draco."

"Yes? And?"

"This is practically our kid we're talking about here. She's basically a baby still. You can't just –"

Draco dragged a hand over his face, groaning once more, though even he was smiling now. "You can't honestly be trying to pull the 'kid' card, are you? I thought I told you never to do that."

Harry wrapped an arm around Pipsqueak and tugged her more fully towards himself. She came compliantly enough. "We're not doing it _now_ ," Harry emphasised, even if his body was still struggling with the residue of the desire to very much do the opposite. He turned his gaze down to Pipsqueak who blinked up at him widely. "Think of it as preserving her innocence for just a bit longer."

Draco groaned once more. Harry laughed.

Harry was still laughing intermittently, albeit with a slight cringe of embarrassment, when the rest of the eighth year tower awoke, just as Draco was still grumbling, exasperated, and yet similarly fighting his grin. Pipsqueak seemed thoroughly pleased with herself, her tails continuing with their incessant wag of self-satisfaction and the hum of her purr thrumming through Harry's legs as she sprawled heavily across his and Draco's laps. Harry had struggled and somehow managed slide himself onto the couch beside Draco as opposed to on top of him. He felt it would probably be best to attempt to preserve the innocence of his friends as well as his foxlet for as long as possible.

Ron was the first to descend from the dormitory, offering a warm and evidently relieved smile when he saw Harry, Draco and Pipsqueak awake and fighting smiles. "Morning, you lot. How are you feeling?"

Before Harry got the chance to reply, Blaise, descending behind Ron, interrupted by way of a morning greeting. "Someone's pleased with themselves. My, my, you're both certainly looking better than you did last night." His smirk was just a little too knowing for Harry's peace of mind as the two of them wandered across the room to the couch that Harry and Draco sat in.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Blaise only shrugged at his question, reaching down to scratch Pipsqueak on her head in a manner that she blatantly ignored. "Nothing, nothing at all."

"Sod off, Zabini," Draco said, tone more mild than such a turn-a-phrase suggested he was. Blaise's smirk only widened as he ran a glance over Draco's objectionably crossed arms and hooded stare as though reading him like a book. He wriggled his eyebrows suggestively in a way that made Harry cringe. How the hell did he know?

Ron glanced between the two of them – the three of them, really – with a questioning frown. "Am I missing something?"

"Always, Ron," Blaise nodded a little long-sufferingly. "Always."

"Hey, I'm not that slow," Ron began, only for Draco to interrupt him.

"Really? You're not?" Then, so deliberately that it couldn't be taken as anything but a taunt, Draco leaned towards Harry, wrapped an arm around his waist, and deliberately planted a kiss upon his cheek.

Harry felt himself flush in a mixture of embarrassment and mortification. Blaise's smirk became leering. Ron blinked, stared, then blinked some more and Harry afforded him a cringeful glance before turning towards Draco and elbowing him in the gut hard enough for him to loose his breath in an "oomph!" "Did you really have to do that?"

The wounded expression Draco had adopted at the elbow-jab became a self-satisfied grin once more. "I really had to."

"You're an arse."

"I never denied I wasn't."

"Wait, wait, hold on." Ron frowned, closed his eyes for a moment as he raised his fingers to his brow. His mind seemed to be shorting with what he had just seen and Harry found himself wincing once more. "So… so you two are, what? You're dating now?"

"Of course not, Weasley," Draco said with such condescending abruptness that Harry started and turned towards him, surprised. "We've hardly had time for a date." Harry offered him another elbow-jab at that, which he only smirked at this time.

Ron, brow still furrowed, turned his full attention towards Harry. "Seriously?"

Harry shifted uncomfortably. Out of all his friends, Ron would likely be the one who had the most to say about him and Draco developing any kind of relationship. God, even to himself in the privacy of his mind Harry had to marvel at the thought. He'd barely had time to come to terms with reality himself, regardless of how unexpectedly happy it made him feel.

Harry was technically dating Draco Malfoy. Good God.

Shrugging, and ignoring the way Draco immediately clamped a hand upon his shoulder as he appeared want to do whenever he made the gesture, Harry nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, seriously."

"Got a problem with that, Weasley?" Draco asked, his tone deceptively mild once more. This time, however, Harry got the distinct impression that it was so light because it was masking a hidden threat. "I'm more than happy to talk it out with you."

"Draco, do you have to?" Harry said with a frown.

"I have to. It's my right."

"What, so it wouldn't be my right as his best friend to speak to him before you do? _My_ right?"

"No, because you'd likely botch up any potential explanation."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Your faith in me is astounding."

Draco grinned. "Isn't it just?"

Ron glanced between the two of them with a faintly stunned expression though not, as Harry had feared, accusing, or guarded, or even angry. He just seemed… stunned. "No way… Bloody hell. You're really not just pulling my leg?"

"We're not," Draco replied before Harry got the chance to, and his am tightened almost possessively around him. Harry wasn't really one for PDAs but he found he didn't really mind all that much, despite how embarrassing it was and the returned warmth it induced in his cheeks.

"Shame, though," Blaise said idly, a little wistfully. "It would have been a helluva prank."

"Yeah, because I'm sure Harry and Draco would have been so ready to work together to do just that in the past." Ron rolled his eyes and, surprisingly, seemed to shake himself from his stupor and return to normal. "I'd have known it was a prank."

"I'm sure," Blaise replied easily, smirking once more.

"I would have," Ron said indignantly. "Harry's my best mate, of course I would have – hey, Hermione, guess what?"

Harry glanced over his shoulder to catch sight of Hermione as she descended the stairs alongside Lavender, chatting easily. She glanced up at his call, cocking her head questioningly. "What?"

"Harry and Draco are dating."

Hermione blinked, visibly surprised for only a moment before that surprise faded into a smile. "Oh, really? I'd wondered if it was going to happen soon."

Harry stared, stupefied for a moment, just as Ron did. At his side he heard Draco give a faint snort and felt more than saw him shake his head as he murmured almost inaudibly, "I might actually come to like Granger just a little bit."

Ignoring him, Harry shifted himself beneath Pipsqueak to turn more fully towards Hermione as she crossed the room towards him. "What, you actually thought we'd end up dating?"

It was Lavender who replied, with the same knowing smile upon her face that Hermione wore, that Blaise had worn when he entered the common room. "It was pretty obvious, Harry."

Harry shook his head slowly, turning to Draco who tilted his head slightly, raising his eyebrows as if to say 'well, whatever'. "Am I the only one who didn't see this coming?"

"Probably," Blaise said.

"Don't worry, mate," Ron offered consolingly. "You and me both."

Harry was left to shake his head once more in surprise, barely even noticing when Draco leaned in towards him and planted a faintly patronising kiss on his cheek once more with the words, "Don't worry, you only looks about half as pathetic as you think you do."

After that, he urged Pipsqueak from their lap and with the collective agreement of their friends they made their way down to the Great Hall. Harry was left to marvel slightly the entire trip – at the situation at large, of his dating Draco to his friend's ready and, in Ron's case, a little unexpected acceptance of that fact, of their easy camaraderie in general. How much had changed in so little time. Harry couldn't help but turn his gaze down to the primary reason for that change. She trotted happily between him and Draco, recovered from her bout of terror of the previous day and smiling up at him with her furry grin the whole way.


	14. Chapter 14 - The Courtship Dance

**Chapter 14: The Courtship Dance**

 _The courtship dance of a foxlet glider often appears as nothing particularly exceptional or distinctive to the friendly exchanges between the empathetically linked or close siblings. At times, Maddling (1952) describes not realising that courtship was indeed taking place until the act of copulation is witnessed or, in specific examples (see references 7a, 7b) until the evidence is demonstrated through the presence of young and the paternal care of mated members._

 _As such, though progression towards becoming mates is as frequent as retaining solely platonic exchanges, friendships or evidence of empathetic linkage could potentially be viewed as steps in indistinct courtship behaviour._

* * *

It was the Easter Holidays when it happened. It crept up on them so gradually, so sneakily, that Draco had almost forgotten it was going to happen at all.

He'd been thoroughly distracted over the past months. Since the incident in the Forbidden Forest, it was as though his world had grown, altered, shifting. It had manifested in unexpected directions, differing from everything that Draco had ever known in a way that wasn't objectionable in the slightest. Not in the least. And such manifestation arose in two distinct areas.

There were his N.E. . They were a big one. Study consumed every other second of Draco's day, and the professors were relentless. Draco had to question his intelligence at times – in privacy, of course, because a Malfoy would never admit fault aloud – in taking seven subjects. _Why_ had he _done_ that? It wasn't like he even really needed his N.E. . It was mostly a matter of pride, for the knowledge that should he achieve noteworthy marks his prestige in the eyes of his fellows would only mount.

Why did he really care about that? Draco didn't know. He knew in the back of his mind that when he surfaced from the other end of his eighth year he would appreciate the effort he'd afforded at the time. Not now, however. Draco was a dedicated student, he knew, but he wasn't _happy_ with his schooling career at present. How was Hermione doing it? She was unerringly stressed but she actually seemed to thrive off of that mayhem.

That self-ridicule, the frustration and the stress, was alleviated significantly but his other interest. The other aspect of his life that had taken flight and demanded his very obliging attention. And that was Harry.

Being Harry's boyfriend was truly not all that much different to being a mutual bond-parent with him. They still argued. They still exchanged insults and bantered more than they did offer even the occasional backhanded compliment. Harry still showered as much attention upon Pipsqueak as he did Draco – though of an entirely different kind – and not for the first time Draco found himself jealous. It was a good thing he was so fond of Pipsqueak and she of him for otherwise he would very definitely demand her exclusion from being Harry's permanent shadow.

Well, it wasn't all that different except for a few specific features. Like that he could kiss Harry whenever he wanted, even when Harry had initially been reserved to do so in any kind of public context because it was 'unnecessary' and 'embarrassing'. Draco quickly cured him of that ailment. Their constant companionship was another aspect that really wasn't any different to how it had been, though the fact that Harry didn't object when Draco felt the urge to sling his arm around his shoulders certainly was. Draco wasn't a particularly touchy person, but he _was_ a spoilt and possessive brat. He knew this. He revelled in this. And Draco made no attempts to hide the fact that in so wrapping himself around Harry he was stating his claim.

It was absolutely wonderful to see Ginny Weasley that first breakfast morning. He didn't dislike the youngest Weasley as much as he once had but he wasn't particularly fond of her either. Even less so when she monopolised Harry's attention, or looked at him with the familiarity of ex-partners.

Draco had suspected that Ginny held hopes of perhaps one day rekindling her relationship with Harry. His suspicions were only validated when, for the first time – and it was indeed a struggle – Draco accompanied Harry to the Gryffindor table for breakfast. As recompense, he stole a kiss which had left Hermione struggling to withhold a grin and Ron appearing faintly horrified as he had each time Draco had done so that morning. Blaise had openly laughed; his friend had, naturally, followed him to Gryffindor's table and was seated beside Luna because _of course_ Luna be at the Gryffindor table?

Across the table, Ginny gasped with a strangled. " _What?_ "

All eyes turned towards her and Draco felt only a touch of guilt when he saw the upwelling of similar guilt flood Harry's face. He winced slightly, raising a hand to scratch awkwardly at the side of his head. "Morning, Ginny? Um…" He'd glanced towards Draco, pursing his lips. Draco blinked back at him silently, expectantly. "Just so you know, Draco and I are dating now."

Ginny stared. She stared at Harry disbelievingly for a moment, then at Draco, then back at Harry. She'd turned almost desperately towards Hermione and Ron, who had both offered her faintly commiserating glances before spinning her gaze back to Harry. Then to Draco once more. The glare she affixed him with was smouldering.

"You bastard."

"Thank you."

"It wasn't a compliment." She'd grumbled beneath her breath before resolutely turning back to her meal, prodding her porridge with her spoon. She didn't take another bite.

Harry appeared evidently concerned, even more so than simply guilty as he had before. Draco fought his annoyance as he leant across the table towards Ginny to spoke in a low voice. "Hey, Gin? Are you, um… I guess… sorry?"

Ginny stared at her bowl for a moment longer before raising her seething gaze towards Harry. Only for a moment, though, because no one could possibly stay angry at Harry in the face of his evident distress. Draco marvelled that he'd been able to do so in the past. His arm tightened automatically around Harry's waist, a gesture that obviously didn't go unnoticed by Ginny.

She only sighed after a long moment, however, dropping her chin onto a raised hand. "You don't have anything to be sorry for, Harry. I'm just jealous, I suppose. I'll get over it."

"But you didn't want to date me anymore?" Harry's statement sounded more like a question.

"Or you me," Ginny nodded in agreement before sighing again. "Whatever. I don't know, maybe I sort of hoped it would… never mind." Then she turned deliberately back to her bowl and that was the end of it. Surprisingly, because Draco had certainly expected more of a rampage from her, but though Ginny continued to spear him repeatedly with a glare over the following days, the following weeks, even, she hadn't objected further. Draco was still suspicious she'd swoop in at the barest hint of discord between he and Harry, but otherwise she did nothing. For that, Draco had to admire her restraint. He was certain he wouldn't have been quite so lenient had their positions been reversed.

Draco and Harry spent their entire time together, as had become their usual. When the Easter Holidays arrived, it was to consistent and continued study, alongside the rest of their friends who had largely decided to stay at school over the break. It was at breakfast on Easter morning that it happened.

Harry was feeding Pipsqueak chocolate. Of course he was, because Harry was both the protective and upstanding parent and the sneaky grandparent who slipped junk to their grandkids with the misguided belief that said parents didn't have a clue what was going on. He didn't even try to hide what he was doing, laughing openly at Pipsqueak's delight as she gobbled down the morsel offered to her.

"You'll make her fat," Draco drawled, cutting his chocolate-drizzled waffles into bite sized pieces like a normal person. Harry was not normal as picked his up to eat like it was a slice of toast.

"She's not going to get fat," Harry objected. "She's skin and bones."

"No she's not. That's just how foxlets are supposed to be. They wouldn't be able to glide if they were any heavier. She's already huge."

"Are you calling my foxlet fat?"

"No, I just said I wasn't. And she's _my_ foxlet as much as she is yours."

"No she's not."

"Yes she is."

"She's not."

"She is."

"Listen to you two, fighting like an old married couple," Blaise said, fluttering his eyelids like a star-struck teenager smitten by a scene of romance. He turned towards Luna who seemed to have taken up a permanent seat at his side of late. "Love is in the air."

Luna nodded solemnly. "That's probably what's attracting all the Fizzlebursts."

"The what's?"

"The Fizzlebursts. What's making the air all foggy."

Blaise frowned then shrugged. "Pretty sure that's just from the boiler, but who am I to judge?"

Draco rolled his eyes and shook his head, forking a bite into his mouth. He was fairly sure that Luna was having Blaise on but couldn't be entirely sure. She seemed to conjure facts and creatures from the deepest recesses of her mind and Draco doubted that the world's opposition could sway her from her opinion.

He was distracted from their exchange, however, by a " _yip_ " from Pipsqueak's direction. She was big now, almost fully grown according to Hagrid, even if she was still markedly smaller than her two Berserker siblings. In spite of that fact, she hadn't mentally matured yet. She was head and shoulders above the edge of the table and could reach a paw in a very human manner towards just about anything in a five meter radius. She was far too big to sit on Draco or Harry's laps anymore, though it didn't stop her from trying.

She'd disappeared from her seat, however, as though she'd fallen backwards to the floor, which was uncharacteristically clumsy of her. Draco lowered his fork and sat up further in his seat. "Is she alright?"

Harry was already spinning from his seat to standing, slipping into a crouch before where Draco could see Pipsqueak twitching on the floor. A frown grew rapidly upon his brow, confusion and concern rapidly fading to alarm and almost fear. "Oh shit. Draco, I think she's –"

Draco didn't pause to hear the rest of Harry's words. Disregarding propriety entirely, he vaulted over the table fast enough to cause several of the surrounding Slytherins to start and exclaim. He ignored them, immediately crouching down at Harry's side.

Pipsqueak was convulsing in something that wasn't exactly a fit. It was almost as though she was being assaulted with twitches. Her shoulders flinched, her limbs struggling to raise her from her slump jerking just as much. Her ears spun and flicked, not pressed backwards in distress or fear or even the anger of a Berserker but as though attempting to catch every sound around her.

She didn't snarl, though. She didn't growl. Draco could be relieved for that at least, would hold onto that fact desperately. He still stared unblinkingly at his foxlet, foreboding and fear welling within him.

"Is she…?" He asked Harry crouched silently at his side.

Harry shook his head, eyes wide and expression just as concerned as Draco felt. "I don't know. It's not the same as with Tod or Kitsune but do you think that maybe…?"

He trailed off as they both turned back to Pipsqueak who, with a lurch, staggered to her feet. She shook herself violently, like a dog ridding its fur of water, the greyish fluff of fur flapping around her momentarily before settling. Then her shaking stopped.

A smile of utter relief spread across Draco's face.

Pipsqueak looked slightly different, in that weird way that foxlets apparently became when they mentally matured. Not _bigger_ as the Berserkers had, without the sheer intimidation factor, but perhaps just slightly taller, a little longer of limb. Her wide, bat-like ears turned forwards, twitching curiously and her tails looped and coiled around themselves in asynchronous wags. And in the centre of her forehead her third eye stared directly at them alongside the two, wide black ones. They focused unblinkingly upon he and Harry.

Pipsqueak's third eye was startlingly different to the other two, almost disconcertingly so. So pale it was almost white, it was slightly smaller, round rather than almond shaped. Just as her black eyes appeared to be little more that a large pupil, the third eye was similarly pupil-less, though as if in reverse. Faintly whiter in the middle perhaps but otherwise…

"She didn't go Berserk," Harry whispered barely audibly. There was profound relief in his voice reflecting wholly what Draco's felt.

Draco turned towards him and the relief grew into a smile on Harry's face that he couldn't help but mirror. "She didn't go Berserk."

Pipsqueak let out a " _yip_ " as though agreeing with their words, crossed the distance between them and butted her snout into Harry's face. Harry immediately wrapped his arms around her and squeezed her in a tight embrace. He looked like a child with their pet dog, even if Pips was an alternate kind of canine. He muttered something into her scruff that sounded to Draco like "Thank God". At the sight of them, Draco couldn't help himself. He leant forwards and wrapped them both in an embrace with little care for what anyone around him thought.

They had acquired something of an audience, Draco realised when they finally drew apart. Blaise was leaning over the table, a smile spread widely across his face and Luna beamed alongside him in genuine delight. Hermione, Ron, Ginny and Lavender had joined approached them from the Gryffindor table and each smiled in a mixture of relief and affection. Even Ginny, who had never worn more than a begrudging smile around Draco in the past weeks. Almost every other student in the hall was watching attentively, curiously and little worriedly though that worry was definitely fading. The professors, too. McGonagall herself had descended from the head table, making her way through the crowd of students to pause a handful of feet away.

Harry and Draco both turned their attention up towards the headmistress, Draco a little warily though Harry with a distinct expression of satisfaction. No, it was more than satisfaction. Harry was revelling in the turn of events, in Pipsqueak's maturation that was nothing if not blessedly anticlimactic. Unwrapping his arms from Pipsqueak's neck, he rose to his feet. Draco followed alongside.

Harry and McGonagall stared at one another for a moment, McGonagall contemplatively and Harry with a faint question in his expression. Finally the headmistress spoke. "Well, that was certainly the desired outcome. I trust that the possibility of your foxlet degenerating into aggression is largely unlikely from this point?"

Before Harry could reply, Hagrid's booming voice called across the room. He, unlike the headmistress, evidently hadn't been able to weave through the pool students for a closer look and still stood to the back of the clustered masses. "Not teh worry, Professor. When their third eye opens permanently like that it's all set in stone."

McGonagall spared a glance over her shoulder towards Hagrid before turning back once more with a nod towards Harry and Draco. Well, mostly Harry but Draco didn't like to think himself disregarded. "That's settled then. A welcome relief."

"She won't go Berserk," Harry said firmly, with more confidence than Draco, even from his more recently acquired knowledge of foxlet gliders, couldn't claim. "She's settled now. She won't go Berserk."

McGonagall nodded once more. "Alright, then. I'll trust you on this, Potter."

Instantly, Harry was beaming. A wide, brilliant smile, the sort of smile that could – and did – induce others to do the same. Then, with a gesture that seemed deliberate and pointed, he raised his wrist so the golden chain that dangled from the bracelet and connected to Pipsqueak's collar jingled. He blinked at McGonagall expectantly, head tilting slightly.

McGonagall sighed, a little long-sufferingly but with a faint smile all the same. Drawing her wand from the sleeve of her robe, she pointed it towards Harry. "I sincerely hope I won't regret this." With a sweeping gesture, she vanquished the bracelet.

There was a moment. A bare moment in which Harry stared at Pipsqueak, when he spared a glance for Draco and Pipsqueak did exactly the same. Then, as if choreographed, the two of them spun in step simultaneously and sprinted from the Great Hall. The other students, their friends, scattered before them, Harry letting out a whoop that was far too childish for a mature wizard, and Pipsqueak, loping at his side, set about with a series of joyous yips.

Draco didn't wait more than a stunned second. A smile spreading across his own face, he bolted right after them.

They were out on the grounds, stopped at the edge of the courtyard as Pipsqueak bounded in leaps and somersaults in evident delight by the time Draco pulled up beside them. She was racing down the hill at a distance further than she had ever been from Harry, as though she truly understood the liberation that her maturation into a Sedate adult had afforded her. As though she understood that her collar had been permanently removed.

Draco suspected she probably did. Pipsqueak was smart like that.

Harry was already filching around in the pocket of his jacket for something or other by the time Draco drew up to his side. Something that showed itself as being the little mouse toy that he'd transfigured and gifted to Pipsqueak for Christmas. It really did look like a mouse, even if immobilised in that moment when whatever charms settled upon it hadn't as of yet been triggered.

Harry spared a glance and a toothy grin for Draco before turning back towards the now distant Pipsqueak. She was yipping and tumbling over herself, face planting in her crazed delight before leaping to her feet once more to tear off with tails streaming behind her. Her ears flapped backwards like the wings of a bird.

"Hey, Pips!" Harry called, his voice echoing across the grounds. He raised the mouse overhead, waving it slightly as though attempting to attract her attention.

Pipsqueak paused in her headlong, joyous flight. Paused, and then raced headlong back towards Harry. She only got within about twenty meters of them however, before, in a motion that left Draco blinking in bemusement, Harry drew back his arm and lobbed the mouse toy high.

It flew. Not just thrown, it actually flew. Wings like those of a snitch sprung from the mouse's body and flapped like a hummingbird's. Pipsqueak skidded to a halt, distracted from her course and took off after the flying mouse down the hill an instant later, as though the game was practiced. Before she'd taken more than a dozen leaps, she bounded once more, high, and spread her limbs wide to soar after the flying mouse with more speed than should have been possible in a glide.

Draco found himself grinning. He was actually beaming, shaking his head in joy at Pipsqueak's delight that he could swear he felt as much as he saw. At Harry's joy too as, in a surprisingly intimate gesture, he stepped closer the Draco's side and dropped his chin upon his shoulder, on arm settling around his waist. Draco was vaguely aware of his friends, of the other students behind them, but he didn't spare them a glance.

"Our foxlet's actually properly grown up now," Harry murmured into his ear. Draco could hear the utter love beaming from his quiet words.

He nodded, eyes still trained on the distant Pipsqueak. She'd snagged the mouse out of the air with her front paws, only to tumble to the ground in a roll and a series of " _yip_ "s that sounded almost as though she was laughing to herself. Draco felt his smile widen further. "You sound like you're talking about our kid."

"Well, she is kind of, isn't she?"

Draco didn't reply. For once, he found that he didn't object all that much to the sentiment.

* * *

"Get your mind out of the gutter. It's not going to happen."

"Anyone would think you didn't _want_ it to happen by the way you carry on."

"Shut up, you git, of course I do. But we're _not_ doing it in front of Pipsqueak. She's bloody well looking right at us."

"Consider it a life lesson. She'll have to learn eventually."

"Not this way."

"Eventually, though. Why not this way? Besides, if I had to hazard a guess I would suppose that she's already – see, look at that? She's leaving. She understands the situation and she's affording us due privacy. Thank you, Pips, how very obliging of you."

Harry lifted his head momentarily from the pillow to watch Pipsqueak as she headed for the door. She paused just in the doorway to glance over her shoulder and Harry knew – he _knew_ – that the stare she afforded them was knowing. Entirely too knowing and just faintly amused. She wasn't even one year old yet! She should _not_ have to see the two people who were essentially her parents in any sort of compromising situation.

True, Harry and Draco hadn't quite been able to maintain abstinence entirely, and protest Pipsqueak's near constant presence though he might and how they shouldn't be doing such things before her, Harry couldn't entirely object. There wasn't really all that much objection involved at all, really. Not before the all-too-tempting touch of Draco's fingers, of his tongue, of his lips against Harry's that somehow managed to drive him just a little more insane with every hasty attempt at relieving some of the insatiable lust growing within him. Such encounters had become all the more frequent, if no less short, since Pipsqueak had matured and taken to wandering off a little on her own.

It didn't work, though. It didn't help. Briefly, maybe, but in the long run Harry found that their hasty moments of passion didn't really help at all. He certainly shouldn't have been thinking about Draco quite as much as he was in _that_ way, especially with their N.E. just around the corner, or find his gaze drifting to wholly incriminating areas that made him flush when Draco caught him in the act with a smirk.

The arse.

Craning his neck slightly, Harry watched as Pipsqueak seemed to shrug, shaking her head slightly as though exasperated for her wayward children, before trotting out the door. It was possibly a coincidence, but Harry still found it seemed eerily deliberate that as she brushed past the door she jostled it enough that it swung shut behind her.

When he glanced back to Draco it was to find his boyfriend reclined on his side, hand propping his head up and smirking once more. Always the fucking smirk. Harry rolled his eyes as he propped himself up on his elbows. "You see what you've done to her."

"I'm not complaining," Draco said mildly.

"I know _you're_ not. It's me who's objecting about tainting Pipsqueak's innocence –"

Snorting, Draco shook his head and leaned in to press a kiss upon Harry's lips. Harry could have objected further, wanted to object more, but he found that the temptation to simply fall mute beneath Draco's very deliberate silencing technique was unavoidable. What was happening to him? Since when did he not kick up a stink with Draco Malfoy?

Harry didn't know. And as Draco shifted slightly, shuffling himself forwards and adjusting their positions so that he was rolling bodily on top of Harry, even that voice was silenced. No, Harry didn't want to have sex with Draco in front of Pipsqueak for besides the whole innocence thing it was embarrassing. It would be like having sex in front of Ron or – well, no, maybe not Ron, but it was nearly as bad. But with Pipsqueak so kindly and thoughtfully removing herself from the scene, his complaints melted like ice in hot water.

They'd been holding off, much to Draco's open objection and Harry's unvoiced agreements to such complaints. He had to keep them unvoiced because if he verbalised that which he was certain Draco already knew then his boyfriend would make certain to smack aside that last remaining phantom wall and toss caution and propriety to the wind. Satisfying but largely unfulfilling hand jobs, blowjobs and the increasingly frequent fingering – an experience that was entirely new to Harry but he no longer felt the slightest objection to – truly didn't quite stifle their growing frustration. Harry had been hanging out for something more, something further, for weeks now.

Draco was too. Persistently so. Even more persistently though with an odd tenderness since Harry had offhandedly – or at least he'd attempted offhandedness – admitted that he was a virgin. That he hadn't gone the whole way, not even with Ginny. Draco, who appeared to have something of a particular dislike for Ginny, had appeared nothing if not delighted. Not the taunting delight that Harry was familiar with but of a different kind. One that was softer, kinder, _actual_ delight as it should be. For whatever reason, he seemed to touch Harry just a little differently after that.

Harry was altogether nervous at the prospect of what Draco proposed. He was nervous not because it was Draco but because he had no idea what the bloody hell he was doing. After a time, he'd even admitted as much to Draco who surprisingly hadn't teased him about that either. He hadn't really said anything at all, actually, except when he shrugged, offered Harry that soft smile that he'd been wearing more and more often of late in a way that was slightly disconcerting yet more than a little adorable all the same, and offered him a kiss. "So what? Everyone's got to start somewhere. I'll show you."

Draco did. He did very much. It was a world of explorations for Harry, not only in intimacy but in intimacy with a boy, which was actually not all that different fundamentally to sharing as much with a girl. Harry barely even considered the distinction these days. He was more forcibly removed from considering it when Draco was kissing him. When he was touching him. When he was lying on top of him and _doing_ things that somehow managed to turn Harry on without his direct intention. Harry didn't object to that. Not in the slightest.

When Draco climbed on top of him once more, it was familiar. In an incremental process, they slowly disrobed one another. For the first time, really, despite the fact that they'd shared more than one hurried shower together over the past weeks in the relative privacy of pre-dawn. Lying beneath Draco, Harry dragged at his robes, shrugging them off his shoulders and tugging at the undershirt he wore beneath until he revealed smooth, pale skin. He was warm. Draco's skin was always warm, in contrast to its cold whiteness. Drawing his fingers down his bared back, Harry pressed his lips to a shoulder even as Draco dropped his head down to Harry's neck to lick and pepper him with kisses of his own.

When trousers, pants, shirts, robes and socks were finally discarded, Harry found himself pausing momentarily in their heated exchange simply to look. He'd seen Draco naked before, but it was still a matter of appreciation. He was all long, lean limbs, not bulky but far from waifish. Harry ran his hands lightly over his hipbones, grazing along the bumps of his spine, back down to drift over his buttocks and the tops of his thighs so lightly that he felt Draco shiver. He drawing away from where he'd been planting kisses upon Harry's collarbones, dragging himself upwards slightly to more easily peer down upon Harry. "Are you doing that on purpose?"

Harry shifted slightly beneath Draco. The press of their bodies did nothing to alleviate the pressured heat rapidly building in his groin. He cocked his head, smirking. "Do what?"

Draco stared at him for a moment longer before shaking his head. "You are. You're doing that on purpose." Then he physically drew away, rising from where he lay along Harry and leaning away just enough that Harry could sit up slightly.

Harry did with a frowned. "Draco –"

"Hold on a second," Draco replied, turning back towards Harry with wand in hand. Harry's momentary concern, his sudden worry, faded away into understanding. He watching as Draco muttered a spell beneath his breath before dropping his wand at his side onto the bed. He turned a raised eyebrow up at Harry, rubbing his slickened fingers together in a far too suggestive manner. He could feel himself flush in embarrassment. "Objections?"

"Fuck you."

"If you'd like," Draco said with a smirk and Harry rolled his eyes. "Seriously, though."

Harry shook his, though a flicker of uncertainty rose within him once more to couple with his awkward embarrassment. "'Course not, idiot. I just… I have no idea really what the hell I'm doing."

"We talked about it."

"That's massively different to actually doing it."

Draco cocked his head and that soft smile, the smile that Harry only ever saw turned towards him, arose once more. "Then let me show you how it's done." And leaning forwards, crawling back over him, he pressed his lips against Harry's firmly as though to shake aside the flicker of his doubt. Within moments, Harry was thoroughly distracted from his uncertainty and even his embarrassment once more, with Draco's fingers being more than adequate in that department.

It was the strangest sensation, even having experienced it with Draco in brief moments of discovery. Harry had never even considered it before, would likely have been more than a little disconcerted by the action, had Draco not been the one doing it and if it hadn't felt just _so good_. Draco's arm hooked behind one of his knees, urging it upwards while the other worked between his legs, probing and sliding and urging him open. The feeling caused Harry to catch his breath, to gasp at the now-familiar sensations triggered his nerves into dancing in breathless stimulation. He locked his arm around Draco's neck to hold him close enough to kiss, to press their lips and for Harry to slide his tongue into Draco's mouth and taste him. Draco groaned almost painfully, leaning more heavily on top of Harry until their chests pressed together, skin on skin, the heat in Harry's groin only growing as his arousal grew.

Harry could feel the moment that Draco shifted, that he slid another finger within him, the momentary sting of tightness that eased beneath his ministrations. His legs trembled slightly the longer Draco touched him, the longer he felt him, and he lost himself to timelessness, to the simple contact, the feeling of –

"Oh _God_ ," Harry gasped as his vision whited out and sparks danced through his brain. His arms tightened further in their hold as the volt of pleasure triggered by Draco's fingers nearly tipped him over the edge. "God, what was – what just -?"

He blinked up into Draco's face, shedding the blurriness to stare up at him wonderingly. Draco smiled down at him – no, he _smirked_ – in an entirely self-satisfied manner. Not like the arse he'd been throughout their entire schooling life, but like _Harry's_ Draco. "Good?"

"Do you even have to ask that?"

"Just checking."

"Well don't. Fucking don't. There doesn't need to be – _f-fuck_ …" Harry's breath hitched, his thought processes shorting as Draco twisted his fingers and brushed at _that place_ that felt just _So_. _Good_. The intrusion, the brief pain of another finger, was negligible in comparison. "How do you… what –?"

Draco smirked again, leaning forwards to press his lips against Harry's and momentarily silencing him. "That, Harry, is exactly what you've been missing."

"Missing?" Harry gasped. His vision was blurred once more, he couldn't think straight and his entire being focused upon what Draco's fingers were doing, were he was touching, and the delicious, intoxicating pleasure that arose from the barest caress. "What am I…?"

He couldn't finish but Draco didn't appear to need him to. Instead, drawing away from Harry until he had to release the iron-hard hold that was looped around his neck, Draco settled back on his knees, one hand still locked around the back of Harry's thigh. His other hand, his fingers that should have been illegal for the feelings they induced, withdrew from Harry with a distinct feeling of loss. Harry couldn't help himself. He propped himself up on an elbow and frowned up at Draco. "What are you -?"

Draco silenced him with a stroke of fingers down his thigh, with a lean into his onto him to press his lips against the skin of Harry's chest. His breath felt warm, tickled Harry's flesh as he paused, closing his eyes briefly with those lips rested just above where he had touched him. When he opened them, there was a soft light to his gaze, turned upwards towards Harry. "I hope you don't mind, but I'd sorely like to fuck you right now."

Harry swallowed. Such a crude, blunt phrase, even touched with faux politeness, should _not_ have sounded so enticing. And yet Harry found himself nodding fervently, eagerly, at the very thought. "Hell yes."

Draco's smile was more genuine, less of a smirk this time. He reached behind himself once more, murmuring over his fingers momentarily with his wand in hand. A moment later and he was dropping his wand, hand falling down to his arousal to coat it in slick wetness that to Harry's eyes was utterly captivating to watch. He'd never thought that seeing another bloke turned on like that would have quite such an effect upon him but _God_ it certainly seemed to. His cheeks felt warm, his eyes unable to draw from Draco's motions, not even when he knew Draco turned his gaze upon him.

Leaning forwards and grasping Harry's hips with one hand, Draco urged them upwards to prop a hastily grasped pillow beneath. It was the strangest situation, the strangest positioning, and would have felt embarrassing all over again except for the fact that Harry was hot, and trembling, and entirely too turned on right now to give a fuck about that sort of thing.

Then Draco leaned over him once more, readjusting his hold behind Harry's knees, behind both his knees, and urging them up towards his shoulders, he pressed his lips against Harry's once more in a brief, feather-light touch. "Sorry if this hurts a little," he murmured.

Harry fought the urge to snort in a way that would have entirely killed the mood. "Don't apologise for –"

His words stuttered off into a gasp, not so much in pain as the unexpectedness. Maybe he should have expected it but he certainly hadn't. In a slow, gradual thrust, his hand dropping from Harry's leg to guide himself forwards, Draco eased himself into him. Harry hadn't been expecting that at all.

It was tight. Almost painfully tight, an ache blossoming at the back of his hips. Harry felt his muscles protest, felt the tremble in his limbs take hold once more, the heat in his groin pooling sharply and crashing into him like a wave. Harry's chest felt tight, his breath hard to catch, and quite without his direction he found himself reaching up to grasp at Draco's shoulders with both of his hands. His teeth dug into his lip painfully but he hardly noticed because his entire mind was focused upon where Draco pressed himself inside him.

It didn't hurt. Not really. Okay, maybe it did a little bit, but Harry was more focused by the strangeness of the sensations, the newness, the feelings it urged through his body that was a confusing combination of pleasure and pain. That, and Draco's face, his brow crinkled into a frown as though he were seriously concentrating, his eyes closed and his own lip caught between his teeth. He seemed to be struggling to maintain a slow pace as he urged his hips forwards, each centimetre causing Harry to catch his breath again and again until with a final snap he fully seated himself.

Harry found himself panting. His fingers digging into Draco's shoulders must have been painful, but he couldn't urge himself to let go. He was entirely focused upon Draco's expression, upon the breaths gasping from him in discordant huffs strangely in time with Harry's own, with the throbbing warmth at his groin and the tightness that eased just slightly, slowly, second by second.

Draco opened his eyes just as slowly and when he did it was for Harry to behold that light within them once more. That soft, focused light that was enchanting to behold, paling his eyes with a feverish shine. "Are you okay?" He asked, and his voice was a mixture of a croak and a husky sigh. Harry had never heard that tone before and he sincerely hoped he never would outside of their intimate privacy again. It was entirely too stimulating; it did things to Harry's head that only intensified the heat pooling in his belly.

Harry nodded between gasps. "I'm alright. I'm – I'm good, I'm –"

Draco gave a breathless huff of laughter. He turned his head, leaning towards Harry's leg to press his lips against the inside of his knee. "Tell me if it hurts."

"Fucking hell, Draco, if I'd known you were going to be so bloody nervy I would have –"

"What? You would have what?"

Harry bit his lip but didn't otherwise reply. Instead, in a struggle and a positioning that was more than a little awkward – it did things to Harry's body that should _definitely_ have been illegal, rubbing in all of the terribly wrong and definitely right ways – he reached upwards, locked an arm around Draco's neck and tugged him towards him to press their lips together. "Just do it already," he whispered in what was more of a demanding growl.

Draco obliged.

Harry couldn't have prepared himself for the feeling of it. For what it made him feel when Draco withdrew slightly before thrusting his hips back into Harry with a sharp snap. When he grasped a hold of Harry's hip with one hand, his raised leg with the other, and urged himself to setting a pace that no, Harry had _not_ expected in the slightest. The tightness between his legs eased slightly, but even had it not the feeling of skin-on-skin, the strange sort of friction, the deep-belly itch that ploughed into him with every one of Draco's thrusts would have distracted him more than adequately.

And then Draco somehow managed to brush against that spot, the fireworks-blinding-stinging-intoxicating spot of pleasure ,and Harry was gasping once more, groaning uncontrollably and locking his arms more tightly in their hold around Draco's neck. His hips rose, pushing back to meet Draco's thrusts, his gasps mingling with Draco's panting breaths. One of his hands scrambled to grasp himself, to tighten around his throbbing arousal, only to meet Draco's own long fingers reaching for him at the same time. The dual sensation of sensitivity from not one but two sources… it nearly drove Harry insane.

"Do that – please do that again," he gasped

Barely slowing in his thrusts, Draco released a breathless laugh, the soft warmth licking Harry's cheek. "You – like that – then?"

"Don't ask – ah – don't ask stupid ques – questions," Harry replied, which was about all he could manage before he had to lock his teeth into his lips to keep from crying out aloud. It didn't do much for his unstoppable groan, however, because Draco was very much obliging him.

The fierce thrusting, the snapping rolls of Draco's hips, the stroke of his hand upon Harry's hardness that moved in tandem with his own fingers – it was all too much. Harry didn't have a chance in hell. He knew he wouldn't last long. Arching beneath the pleasure, trembling from sheer, desperate need for completion and long since blinded to anything but Draco, his face, the touch of his lips upon his cheeks as he would pause just briefly to plant another kiss. Harry could have lost himself in it forever.

He didn't have forever. The tightness in his groin built further and further, mounting and straining for release, the sparking, gut tightening, utterly sinful pleasure from deep within him triggered by each slide Draco raked across his insides; it was too much. A thrust, a stroking tug of Draco's fingers, and Harry found himself coming in strings of wetness that streaked across his belly. He couldn't suppress his wordless cry this time, didn't want to as every muscle within him seized in a crescendo of cascading pleasure. His arms tightened almost around Draco, squeezing him as sensation overwhelmed him even as Draco continued with his thrusts, becoming more haphazard with each jerk of his hips.

He didn't last long either. Harry didn't care, wasn't either critical or embarrassed for either of them. When Draco came, the warmth and wetness suffusing Harry, his own groan of pleasure sounded almost pained and tightened the crinkling of his brow. Harry barely saw it. He was caught, falling from his own climax, was only half aware of the fact that Draco rode out his own pleasure with slowing thrusts.

He'd never felt anything so achingly _good_ in his entire life.

Draco collapsed on top of him. Not in a boneless slump but in an easing, trembling lowering of himself onto Harry's chest. Harry welcomed the touch, the embrace that was afforded him as Draco, panting so heavily that Harry could feel the motions of his chest on his overly-sensitised skin, wrapped his arms around him in return. Harry had never been a particularly touchy-feely person but in this instance he certainly found himself welcoming the chance to make an exception.

When the beaming pleasure slowly faded, when Harry found he could breath again in something less than pants, Draco withdrew from him. It was a disconcerting feeling that followed, the feeling of slickness and emptiness, that Harry was missing something, but he strove to thrust the thought, the sensation of loss, aside. Instead, he wrapped his arms around Draco more tightly, hooking his legs around his back to hold them against one another in a position that probably should have been uncomfortable but really, really wasn't. Draco slipped his arms around his waist in turn, holding him just as tightly in return.

Finally, Draco spoke. It was after a turn of his head, peering up at Harry from where his head rested on his shoulder. "Good?"

Harry stared down at him flatly for a moment before slowly raising an eyebrow. "Draco, I swear to God, if you ask me that one more time I'm going to –"

"God?" A smile drew across Draco's face, teasing but not taunting. "You've invoked your deity quite a lot in the last few minutes."

Harry winced slightly, but couldn't suppress his own returning smile. He leaned forwards slightly, just enough to touch a kiss upon Draco's brow. "Shut up, you git."

"You like it. Don't pretend you don't."

Harry didn't even hesitate to reply. It would have been ridiculous anyway. "True. Quite unexpectedly, I do. I like you."

Draco was silent for a moment. Only for a moment – of course only for a moment, as he _was_ Draco Malfoy – before he pushed himself up slightly to slide further up Harry's chest. He rested back down heavily enough to huff Harry's breath from his chest when he was leaning over him, face to face. There was an intent light to his eyes, entirely serious despite the persistence of a small smile upon his lips. "I like you too," was all he said. It was possibly one of the shortest phrases that Harry had ever heard him say.

He wondered why it sounded like Draco's words meant more than that. More, just as his own felt entirely the same.

* * *

Draco would have been quite happy to remain abed for the rest of his life. Quite satisfied, in fact, even with the niggling voice in the back of his mind reminding him that maybe he should consider studying. He would stay in his bed, in his dormitory, at his school and with his boyfriend and his giant, rabid squirrel who he did not object to the presence of in the slightest. Pipsqueak was incredibly soft and warm.

He was comfortable. Satiated. Utterly replete, and it likely had more than a little to do with the fact that he had just had possibly the best sex of his life barely an hour before. Repeatedly, because who in their right mind would stop at once?

He and Harry had the dormitory to themselves. Draco wasn't sure if that was a gesture of respect from the rest of their year mates, an offer of privacy, or of sheer luck that had resulted in the boys dorm having exactly zero visitors throughout that Sunday. Or maybe that was just because it was a Hogsmeade weekend. He didn't care what the reason was, however. Draco was silently grateful for it whatever it was.

Harry had shifted himself so that he was lying half on top of Draco, sprawled across him in a manner that would have been far more satisfying had he not taken the time half an hour before to redress himself with the words, "I don't know about you but I'd rather Blaise not walk in on me starkers and have him know _exactly_ what just went on in his absence", which Draco couldn't help but agree with at least in sentiment. Blaise already suspected they were fucking each other. He'd even asked the other day how it was, as though it was in any way his business.

Still, Draco had followed suit, if only dressing himself in a thin shirt and loose casual trousers just as Harry did. Clothes might be necessary but the feel of Harry pressed against him, body radiating warmth through the thin layers between them, was far too delicious to clad himself in anything more adequate.

Pipsqueak, naturally, reclined atop the both of them like a living blanket. She was nearly as tall as he and Harry when reclined upon the bed, and she made the most of that fact, stretching her full length along the crevasse where Draco and Harry pressed against one another. Once upon a time, Draco would have objected to the fact that while he and Harry lay with their heads barely a handbreadth apart, Pipsqueak's snout resting nearly as close. Not now, however. It was natural. It simply was.

They hadn't really spoken all that much during that time and yet it was not an uncomfortable silence. Draco had never been particularly inclined towards quietness but in this case he was more than happy to simply revel in lying still, wordless and prone, his arm wrapped around Harry's waist just as Harry's was around his. His other hand stroking idly at the crown of Pipsqueak's head as Harry's plucked gently at her ears.

It was absolutely comfortable. The rest of the world didn't realise what they were missing that they'd never experience something so perfectly natural. So easy.

Comments would arise every now and again. "Did you want to actually go down to Hogsmeade today?" or "We should probably do some study at some point." Such was followed long minutes later by, "You have the pointiest elbows, did you know that? No, don't let go, I'm just saying," which resulted in a brief battle of elbow jabs and laughing curses. Nothing particularly noteworthy, nor anything of all that much depth and yet it was easy. Draco never would have expected, not a year ago, not even six months ago, that lying in bed wrapped around Harry Potter and half smothered beneath a foxlet glider would be his idea of heaven.

After an extended moment of silence in which Draco shifted slightly to reach across the bed and tug the curtains closed slightly to block the afternoon sun shining in, Harry spoke. Draco knew from the first word that, contrary to their previous exchanges, this one was different. That it would hold more meaning. "Hey Draco. So I was wondering. After N.E. –"

"If there is ever an after, yes," Draco nodded. True, he was more than a little distracted from his studies by a certain someone – or more correctly two certain someones – but his focus upon the upcoming exams was indeed pronounced. A few more weeks; that was all he had to hold out for. Just a few more weeks.

Harry nodded decisively into his shoulder. " _After_ our exams, I was wondering. What are you doing for the summer holidays?"

"Staying at school," Draco said immediately before he even had a chance to think about it. His response was automatic, thoughtless, because _of course_ he would stay at school over the holidays, just as he had over the Christmas break, and the Easter break. School was where he was with Harry, and Pipsqueak, and he wouldn't want to be anywhere else. Not even his inclination to visit his mother trumped that.

But then reality settled upon him as Harry turned towards him questioningly, perhaps a little sadly. "Oh, right." Draco muttered, frowning. There would be no other holidays, not that summer nor any in the future. Draco felt his throat tighten slightly and struggled to swallow past it. Hogwarts was what bound he and Harry together, just as much as Pipsqueak did. Take that away and… "Um…"

Harry shifted slightly, and it wasn't Draco's imagination that such fidgeting was an attempt to draw himself closer to him. "Because I was thinking. Unless you had any objections, of course –"

"To your thinking? Definitely," Draco attempted a smile, attempted lightness, but felt he might have failed slightly. Harry afforded him a smile in response nonetheless.

"Shut up for once, would you?" He said fondly before continuing. "I was just thinking. About what I was going to do when I got out of school and everything."

"You wanted to be an Auror, didn't you?" Draco asked, despite the fact that the very thought left him feeling just a little distasteful. It was no secret that the life of an Auror, especially a newbie Auror, was all consuming. That it was more of a lifestyle choice than a career, and that Aurors generally saw more of their colleagues than they did their families, friends or lovers. And that was to say nothing of the cases that would take them away from home. Draco hadn't thought to contemplate the future too deeply, hadn't let himself, and in that moment all he could think was that he sorely hoped to be a part of Harry's.

Harry was silent for a moment, lips quirked sideways in his expression of thoughtfulness. When he replied his words were slow and just as thoughtful. "I did once. Yeah, maybe until not too long ago I wanted to be an Auror. But now…"

"Now?" Draco prompted after a moment's pause, biting back on both his surprise and selfishly kindled hope.

Harry shrugged and Draco couldn't even be bothered in that moment to reprimand him for the gesture that usually so frustrated him. "Now I'm not so sure. I don't think I really want to do that. I think… I think I'm done with fighting. For now, at least."

Those words – they shouldn't have made Draco as happy as they did. Harry was obviously uncertain, a little worried even, and Draco couldn't fault him for that. Everyone at Hogwarts had known since Harry's fifth year if not earlier that the Golden Boy of Gryffindor had intentions of being an Auror. It was a simple fact, just as it was that Draco would inherit his parents' wealth, or that Sue Li of Ravenclaw would become a lawyer at her father's firm, or that MacMillan of Hufflepuff would be the one to overcome his and his friend Corner of Ravenclaw's family feud and likely forge an alliance between two of the largest Muggle-Wizarding Relations parties in the world. It was just accepted, as it was that Blaise was a tart who would likely turn out _exactly_ like his mother, or Hermione would definitely hold the Wizarding world enthralled in the future even if she didn't become Minister for Magic one day.

Draco hadn't even considered otherwise. He hadn't considered it and hadn't even thought about what it would mean for him and Harry when they eventually finished school. Worried and just a little devastated had been the primary emotions that rose to the fore when he accidentally let considerations flood his mind, but they were swept to the side quickly enough by Harry's words. Draco tried not to let his relief seep into his words. "So what are you thinking of doing?"

Harry, still staring at him, frowned slightly. "What are you so happy about?"

"I'm not happy."

"Yes you are. What is it?"

"Nothing."

"Draco –"

"It's nothing," Draco overrode him, scratching more rigorously at Pipsqueak's head. She made a coughing noise that Draco knew to be her version of a chuckle and he scowled at her teasing. She only grinned back up at him, her tails wagging slightly.

Turning back to Harry, he tightened his hold around his waist. "I guess it just leaves open a couple of doors, is all."

"Hm," Harry nodded. "That's what I was thinking."

"Any other thoughts besides that?"

"Hm," Harry hummed again, more thoughtfully this time. "Well, I guess I was going to ask you your plans first, maybe."

Draco had to forcibly thrust aside the upwelling of delight at Harry's words. Harry was adjusting his own considerations around Draco? What more could Draco possibly want from the world? Clearing his throat and ignoring the raised eyebrow that Harry turned towards him as his eyes flickered towards his lips, the only indication he'd had that Draco himself was smiling, he attempted casualness. "Well, you know the life of a Malfoy is grandiose. I have a reputation to uphold, a family name to maintain, estates to run and such. Of course, my marks in my N.E. will just as likely afford me prestige of name, but I've nothing to fear in that regard, not with so many Outstandings beneath my metaphorical belt."

Harry snorted. "Bloody hell, get off your fucking high horse."

"It's absolutely true," Draco said, and he could actually feel his smile widening this time. "The life of a pureblood is all about public face."

"Well, in that case then I'm sure you'll be very busy," Harry grumbled, turning his gaze down towards Pipsqueak who in turn switched her three-eyed stare towards him. "Lucky you."

Draco sighed, dragging Harry closer towards him so that he nearly unseated Pipsqueak in his attempt to drag him on top of him. It resulted in Pipsqueak graciously rolling from their combined laps to heave herself onto Harry's back where he stretched across Draco's chest. Draco could hardly breath for the double weight, but he couldn't bring himself to complain.

Tugging at a lock of Harry's hair, which Harry batted away as though disgruntled by the gesture, despite his expression suggesting otherwise, Draco heaved an exaggerated sigh. "Busy, unfortunately, I will not be. Woe is me that lives as a pureblood, for my time of leisure is the most paramount of occupations I will engage in."

Harry turned his gaze down upon him for a moment, staring blankly, uncomprehendingly, before he snorted. "God, you're a twat. Poor you who has so much time to do _exactly_ what takes your fancy."

"It's a hard life," Draco smirked.

"I'll bet."

"And the beauty of it is," Draco continued, "that I can hence accompany you in whatever interest takes _your_ fancy."

Harry, still staring down at him through the curtain of fringe and glasses, slowly eased his expression of disgruntlement and accusation into a growing smile. "Is that so?"

"Very much so."

"So if I were to have a suggestion…?"

"I would long to hear it to discern if my surplus of leisure time would afford us leeway to pursue your endeavour."

Harry grinned his lopsided smile that Draco had first fallen in love with months before he'd even realised it. "Thanks, Draco," he said, then leaned forwards and pressed a deep yet soft kiss upon his lips.

They lost themselves in one another's mouths for a time, Draco even forgetting for the moment the breathless discomfort of having both boyfriend and foxlet sprawled on top of him. He drew away though eventually, if reluctantly. "So?"

"Hm?" Harry asked, licking his lips in a ridiculously tantalising way that Draco suspected he wasn't even aware was such. "So what?"

"So what's this suggestion of yours?"

"Oh," Harry nodded, comprehension dawning as though his mind truly had been entirely drawn from their discussion. "Right, well, I sort of have this house from my godfather. Needs a bit of doing up."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "This wouldn't happen to be Sirius Black's estate, would it?"

"Maybe just."

"And you want me to help you clean it up."

Harry shrugged, smiling slightly as Draco caught the gesture with his hand and turned a pointed look upon him. "Well, I just figured, if I'm – if _we're_ going to find somewhere that Pipsqueak would be able to actually stay outside of Hogwarts, it would have to be in a Wizarding house and probably in one owned by one of us. I just figured…" He trailed off and gave another deliberate shrug.

Draco hardly noticed that time. He stared up at Harry, eyebrows rising as one hand reached unconsciously behind him to stroke at Pipsqueak's head once more. Her humming purr could be felt even through the wall of Harry's body on top of him. "We are allowed to keep her?"

Harry's smile widened. "I talked to Hagrid. Apparently, so long as we want to, he'd encourage us to keep her with us. Better for everyone involved, you know?"

Draco felt his own smile return tenfold. He hadn't considered it, hadn't wanted to consider the prospect of them having Pipsqueak taken from them. She had become such an integral part to his life, to his life with Harry, that to have her taken away would be like losing a limb. Like losing two limbs.

Draco couldn't help himself curling his free hand around Harry's head to draw him down into another kiss. "Then in that case," he murmured into his lips when he released him, "I think I would be more than happy to offer my interior decorating services. At a price of course."

Harry chuckled. Draco could feel it vibrate through his chest more than he could hear it. "Is that right? And what might that price be?"

"For every hour I spend helping _you_ , you've got to spend just as long doing exactly what _I_ want."

Harry's lopsided grin stretched wide across his face, flashing his teeth. "I think I could manage that." Then he folded himself back on top of Draco and pressed their lips together once more to the music of Pipsqueak's contented purrs.

They didn't move from the bed for the rest of the day. Not when Ron arrived and shook his head over the fact that they were "Still in bed" and "Did they know that Pipsqueak had been sitting outside the dorm a couple of hours ago and preventing anyone from entering?" That fact in particular amused Draco greatly.

They didn't budge when Blaise followed shortly after him and wriggled his eyebrows suggestively at the two of them either, nor when Neville returned to the room muttering profuse apologies for 'intruding'. Not even when Luna, who had just about taken up residence in the eighth year tower alongside Ginny, poked her head through their dormitory door and asked if they wanted to come down to dinner.

Draco didn't. He didn't want to move. Right then, he was exactly where he wanted to be. It was a different kind of wonderful to that which he had expected, to what he had hoped for, but he found he didn't mind this kind of different. Not in the slightest.


	15. Chapter 15 - Life?

**Chapter 15: Life?**

 _Foxlet gliders have not proven to be unerringly monogamous, with some observations demonstrating a tendency towards serial monogamy. However, due to their empathetic links, the binding of more than simply the physical and social aspects of a 'mate', circumstances often tend towards unshakeable faithfulness._

 _At times, mating is for life._

* * *

The end of year feast was always a riot of noise and excitement, of relief and laughter that had been largely bereft of the student body in the exam period. The radiance of hanging candles starkly illuminated the otherwise shadowy hall, driving away the depressing ambiance of storm clouds roiling overhead. The rich scent of roast beef and baked potatoes, buttered greens and mash, the sweetness of pumpkin juice and the saltiness of crackling hung in the air in an intoxicatingly delicious mix. Just as it always did.

Even with a smaller cohort, Minerva could swear that they were just as loud as every previous year had been. Not that she was complaining for that fact for once. Not this time. She couldn't complain for the vast turnabout of attitudes from the beginning of the school year the previous September. The solemnity that had dampened the students' youthful enthusiasm was all but washed away.

Minerva wasn't complaining about that at all.

The seventh and eighth years were perhaps the loudest of the lot, followed closely by the fifth years as their N.E. and O. respectively had been completed. Marks wouldn't be returned for weeks but the relief of the absence of study, of the release from hours spent bent over books and sleepless nights of worry, were finally over. Minerva found herself smiling at the uproar of sudden laughter that was spearheaded by none other than the two remaining Weasleys at the school. They two would be the last of that family in Hogwarts for years to come.

As so often happened, Minerva's gaze was drawn to those few students who stood out, who would always stand out in her memory for years to come not only as students but as people. At Hermione Granger, who was truly one of the brightest young witches she'd ever encountered. To Luna Lovegood who was special in a very different way, though the young woman was certainly no less intelligent. To Ron and Ginny Weasley who, over the past months of their companionable caring for their Berserker foxlet, had become largely friendly with one another.

To Harry Potter too, who would always be special to her as far more than a student. Even more than as the Saviour of the Wizarding world, as the entirely of Wizarding Britain saw him. He was, in many ways, quite simply a friend.

Minerva found herself smiling as she watched Harry beaming over his foxlet's grey head at Draco Malfoy, laughing at something as he forked a piece of baked potato into his mouth. Malfoy actually laughed in reply, leaning across the foxlet in turn. She appeared to have her own plate before her that she was working her way through with remarkable delicacy for a non-human creature. Minerva almost expected her to pick up a fork and start eating with it. Malfoy rested a hand atop her head as he whispered something into Harry's ear that widened Harry's grin further.

That was an odd turn of events, Minerva considered as she took a sip of the wine that was only served at the end of year feast, and cleverly disguised by the grapefruit juice that dotted the student's tables. Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy were dating; years ago Minerva would never have anticipated such a relationship could arise. Although, when she thought about it, perhaps she should have. It _was_ sort of obvious in a 'pull the hair of the girl he likes' kind of way. Maybe Minerva really should have anticipated it.

Even so, it likely wouldn't have happened at all if not for the foxlet glider that had drawn them together. For all of the woes they had brought about, Minerva had to admit that at least one good if unexpected thing had come from Hagrid's surprise.

Turning towards the Magical Creatures professor along the table, Minerva settled her fork down against the edge of her plate to voice her sudden thought. "Hagrid," she called, drawing the attention of the half-giant.

Hagrid turned towards her around a tankard of firewhisky that he didn't even attempt to disguise the nature of. He lowered it with a barely-muffled belch. "Headmistress?"

"I've a thought that I feel I must pose to you before anymore… unexpected arrivals take up residence at our school." At Hagrid's curious frown, she elaborated. "No foxlet gliders next year, Hagrid."

Hagrid gave a sheepish grin as the professors around him, each distracted momentarily from their own meals and conversations, chuckled their amusement. "O' course, professor. One's the trick. Although, this one turned out all fer the best in the end now, didn't it?"

"Hagrid," Minerva warned, twirling her butterknife warningly.

Hagrid smiled merrily once more. "O' course, Professor, o' course," he repeated. "'Sides, I've got a new idea fer next year. A real treat." He winked at her as though they shared a secret.

Minerva stared for a moment before closing her eyes briefly and shaking her head. "Merlin help us all," she muttered to herself, taking another sip of her wine. When she opened her eyes it was to behold Harry, Malfoy and their foxlet once more, both with their arms wrapped comfortably around her shoulders. The foxlet appeared to croon beneath their attention, radiating love that was almost palpable.

Maybe Hagrid was right. Maybe it had all turned out for the best in the end. A strange best – really, a Potter and a Malfoy? – but even so.

It was a good one.

* * *

A/N: Hello, lovely readers! Thank you so much for sticking with this story until the end! I hope you liked it as much as I liked writing it.

First of all, I just wanted to say a massive thanks to the H/D Pet Fest mods for this fest. It's such a good idea and was utterly fantastic! Secondly, thank you my lovely reviewers! Every single review I received gave me such a boost of encouragement and kindness and it was just the nicest thing. You have no idea how just the barest word can make a writer's day.

In saying that, please let me know your thoughts on the story. Liked it, didn't like it, have any questions, feel free to let me know. I'd love to hear from you xx


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